


FXCK IDEOLOGY

by Klavier



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brotherhood, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17125886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klavier/pseuds/Klavier
Summary: Kyungsoo, with eyes wide and chest rising rapidly, looks similarly affected. “You?" He clears his throat. “Um.”Distantly he’s aware of Baekhyun yelling, the soldiers whispering, and Minseok smiling like he’s not a warmonger, but Chanyeol can’t focus past Kyungsoo licking his lips and trying to find the right words. He needs to leave. Before he defines this golden lightness in his chest and gives name to what he’s feeling — excitement. Victory. Hope.“I have to go,” Chanyeol says at the exact same time Kyungsoo says, “I’m your soulmate.”





	FXCK IDEOLOGY

**Author's Note:**

> woooh okay this was written for prompt #6 at the little prince fic fest, HUGE thank you to mods huchu and meokmul for bringing this event together!! to the prompter, this is almost certainly not what you had in mind. I got a little carried away but I hope you enjoy anyway. I finished this around the same time I watched swing kids (excellent movie, 10/10, pls watch) and its anti-war sentiments really resonated with me and, I hope, the themes in this story. hence the title. let me know what you think!
> 
> tw: war-related violence, guns, fire, semi-acknowledged PTSD

 

“I can’t believe it.” Sehun crosses his arms. _"This_ is officially the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  
"Bold statement,” Chanyeol says, tying together his bootlaces, “But I politely disagree. _This_ is genius.” He inspects his outfit in the mirror. A simple cloak and trousers, polished boots, and hair in a complete disarray, finished off with his constant classic black wristband. It covers the soulmark and makes him look stylish.

Satisfied, he smiles and adds, “I don’t look royal at all.”

Sehun is dressed in the same fashion, but the way he’s frowning at Chanyeol indicates just how little he supports this. It doesn’t matter. Chanyeol doesn’t have time for whining or second thoughts, and Sehun often comes with both. He bites hard on his lip and turns to adjust Toben’s saddle.

“Do we _really_ have to do this?” Sehun side-eyes his own horse, Vivi, where she grazes in the next stall. “I heard they don’t bathe in Ely.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Like I said, you shouldn’t come at all.” Chanyeol blows strands of Toben’s mane out of his face. “But Prince Minseok’s engagement party is the best chance we’ll ever get to infiltrate the castle.”

“I don’t want you riding into enemy territory alone. I just got you back.”

Chanyeol looks away from his horse to genuinely inspect Sehun. His younger brother is clever, loyal, strong… but young. Unaccustomed to war. Unlike Chanyeol, he was too young to force into combat when the councilmen decreed a draft. Chanyeol tightens the last strap and turns to squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll be careful, I promise. But I have to do it. We can’t keep fighting pointless battles.”

But Sehun’s already shaking his head and leading Vivi into the middle space. “Shut up,” he says, “I’m still going with you. If you die it might be funny.”

He smiles at the joke, but it hits a little too close. Chanyeol understands there’s a chance he might not come back from this trip. He won’t let Sehun come to that understanding. Ever.

Chanyeol rolls his neck and peeks out the stable doors. It’s too early for the sun, but a cool dew has taken residence on the plains rippling outwards from the castle. At this angle, he can just see the lights of the outside village winking on for early-rising farmhands.

He sighs. “It’s now or never.”

With two weeks’ worth of rations, the two youngest princes of the Kingdom of Lux vanish into the forest.

Seeing as they’re on a clandestine mission without the blessing of the council, Chanyeol and Sehun are careful to leave behind any items of luxury. Including down jackets and fine bed sheets. This is totally acceptable for Chanyeol, who just returned from serving in the general army, but Sehun has never left the castle without an entourage and two handmaids.

Needless to say, it’s slow going. Sehun gets sunburnt. Chanyeol wastes an afternoon rooting around for an aloe plant. The terrain grows unfamiliar and hot, so much hotter than home. Chanyeol sets out bedrolls in a dry streambed and unfurls a stack of papers from his satchel. He’s brought five handwritten profiles: one for each of the Ely princes, one for Sehun’s alias, and one for his own alias.

“Pop quiz.” He studies a bulleted list of information. “Crown Prince Minseok. Tell me everything you know about him.”

Sehun flops face-first onto his bedsheet. “Mmmrghfdh.” He rolls his head to the side. “Twenty-eight. Engaged to his confirmed soulmate, Luhan, prince of Ordium. Heir to the crown of Ely, eldest of three brothers, and rumored to have ice powers. And… he likes coffee. Anything else?”

“That’s all. Next?”

“Baekhyun. Twenty-five, no soulmate found, second in line for the throne. Uh, he’s the handsome one, right?”

Chanyeol’s pretty sure he’s heard that, too, but he shakes his head just to tease. “We don’t have pictures.”

“But people _say_ he’s handsome. He’s rumored for light powers, right?”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol’s already chosen the middle prince as his primary target. He’s supposed to be the most personable and friendly, after making the most public appearances throughout the kingdom, and Chanyeol can swing it with the extroverts any day. Friendly people tend to be naive people. He’s certainly fallen prey to that himself. Plus, how much damage can light actually do?

Sehun continues in a lower voice. “Then Kyungsoo. The last prince.”

 _This_ is the one Chanyeol’s worried about. He clears his throat. “And what do we know about him?”

“Twenty-three, no soulmate found. Third in line for the throne. Powers unknown.”

Hobbies unknown. Habits unknown. _Life_ unknown. Kyungsoo spends most of his time travelling beyond the castle for days or weeks at a time, destinations unknown, and that makes him the wild card. Chanyeol’s spent long nights reviewing debriefs from their moles inside the castle, trying to piece together an image of the royal family. But with Kyungsoo, he always draws a blank. That’s dangerous.

Not to mention the whisper of a rumor, hearsay from hearsay, that the youngest prince once destroyed an entire wing of the castle in seconds…

Chanyeol plans to steer them both clear of that unfamiliar target. Sehun’s safety is too important to risk, and their mission _must_ succeed. Lux can’t afford to be at war any longer — their people are suffering. Too little food and too many injuries.

He quizzes Sehun on his false identity before calling it a night. Travel moves quickly after that and they reach the capital of Ely in six days’ time. By the end of the journey, their nerves are wrecked.

“Have you ever been here before?” Sehun asks, peering past Chanyeol’s head to overlook the city below. It’s huge, sprawling and immaculate, and Chanyeol hates it on sight. Probably dirty and full of violence. These are the people who murdered his mother, after all. The same people he’s been fighting for as long as he can remember.

He’s terrified. But determined.

“Of course not,” he says, “No one’s been here since the war started.”

 _And I’ve never left Lux before,_ he thinks, but he doesn’t mention that to Sehun. It’s not technically true. The front lines haven’t budged an inch in months, and their trenches are dug somewhere just over the disputed Ely border, in the hollows of a dry, decimated valley. Some months ago the Lux military had pushed back the Ely forces enough to isolate and contain the fighting there. It’s not much to hope for, but Chanyeol does hope that if they someday agree to concede the useless valley, it will be enough to start negotiations for a peace treaty.

Beside him, Sehun makes an inquisitive humming noise. “I bet Junmyeon’s guessed where we are by now.”

That makes Chanyeol smile. “He knew the second we went missing from our beds.” He pushes Toben into a trot. “But he doesn’t love the war, either. He won’t stop us.”

Sehun swats a fly from his hair and nods. Together they descend the hill into the city.

It’s loud. There are people and open marketplaces everywhere. Blue ribbons and flags are waving in all directions. It seems to be a national holiday celebrating the crown prince’s engagement, so everywhere he looks, Chanyeol sees drunken merriment, impromptu musical acts, and food fights.

He leads Sehun down the main road, careful to keep their horses steady, and stops at the first inn he sees. _The Starlight_ is a two-story villa with a vegetable garden in the backyard and a clean stable.

Chanyeol approaches the bar. “Excuse me.” He waves at the elderly woman pouring a beer. “Do you have a room for two?”

Her eyes linger on the tight fabric over Chanyeol’s arms. “For you, of course. Gonna cost a fancy penny, eh? Beers, too?”

Sehun says, “Yeah, please,” at the same time Chanyeol says, “No thanks.” 

They glare at each other. The woman cracks up laughing. Since Chanyeol is the one with Ely currency, and only a couple coins at that, they _don’t_ get beers, and instead hurry upstairs to freshen up.

“Nice try,” Chanyeol smirks, splashing water on his face, “but you’re still not legal.”

“Bitch.”

Chanyeol flicks water at him. “The engagement party is literally tonight. We’ll be in the same room as the military commanders who wage war against us _every day_.”

That sobers Sehun up fast, and Chanyeol almost regrets being so stern. He’s usually the fun brother — the cheerful prince, they call him. It’s a nickname he’s proud of. But he hasn’t been called that in a while, not since his time serving in the trenches.

Chanyeol inspects himself in the cracked hand mirror. Hair? A mess. Clothes? Speckled with dirt, but still presentable. His nice leather shoes are a damn travesty, but it’s only expected for a merchant to have muddy soles. He looks the part.

He sits on the edge of the cot to wait for sundown.

 

 

Kyungsoo spends all morning in the kitchens for two reasons:

He _likes_ the kitchens. They’re cramped and they smell like rosemary. Since they were the last extension of the castle to be built, the walls are lopsided and a corner of the ceiling is coming down over the storage crates. Maybe not the most hygienic place, but it’s comforting in its familiarity.

When he gets the chance, he’s there, overseeing the staff and listening to their work chatter. Most of the cooks are immigrants or, in some cases, refugees, and in the evenings, the room fills with the chatter of a dozen different languages. That’s how Kyungsoo gets away with dawdling — if his brothers ask, he’s practicing this-or-that language through semi-immersion.

But today he’s in the kitchens for a more specific reason. He’s nervous.

“Let me beat the eggs for you.” Kyungsoo tugs the bowl out of Jongin’s hands and unleashes his whisk onto the eggs.

“Your Highness, please.” Jongin sighs. “I can make pigs in a blanket without your assistance.”

Kyungsoo pauses. He’s breathing heavily and the eggs are a drippy mess. “I _know_. I want to help.”

“Okay.” Jongin carefully takes back the bowl and pours the egg remains over his dough. Kyungsoo watches him, but his head is somewhere on the other side of the castle, thinking about the drawbridge coming down.

Soon enough, citizens of Ely will flood inside the castle. More than they’ve ever hosted. All to celebrate Minseok and Luhan. He’s excited, but…

“Are you feeling okay?” Jongin’s eyebrows come together and he reaches a hand to Kyungsoo’s forehead.

Kyungsoo swats him away. “Yeah,” he sighs and feels himself deflate. Switching to Elyxian, he continues, “ _I just have… many responsibilities tonight. I’m worried about how the people will respond to me. I haven’t been around as much to build a relationship with them, not like Baekhyun and Minseok have.”_

“ _Oh,”_ Jongin tosses a pinch of salt into the bowl. “ _But it’s a celebration for your family. Shouldn’t you, of all people, have the night off from responsibilities?”_

It’s a nice thought. Before Kyungsoo can begin the rundown of ambassador duties he’s expected to perform, the sous chef emerges from behind a crate of beans and whaps Jongin on the back of the head.

“No distractions. Please.” Jisoo tips her hat and winks at Kyungsoo. “Not even by the pretty prince.”

Kyungsoo smiles back, a little sheepishly. She’s right. This isn’t a good morning to chat with Jongin, and he doesn’t need any help with his dishes. The sous chef spins to yell instructions at a young girl handling thick slabs of venison. A cloud of steam passes from a shifting pot of stew and the kitchen slides out of focus.

Brushing napkin dust off his cloak, Kyungsoo reluctantly steps back. “I’ll let you get back to the hors d’oeuvres.”

“ _Good luck, your highness_.”

“ _Thanks._ ” Kyungsoo mutters. “ _See you tonight._ ”

He abandons Jongin to his dough and lingers indecisively in the empty corridor. It’s been nearly two months since Kyungsoo returned from his last cultural ambassador trip — to Ordium, Luhan’s home kingdom — and he’s unaccustomed to spending so long in the castle. He doesn’t know what to do other than sit in a corner and twiddle his thumbs. Sometimes, he feels utterly useless. What kind of prince doesn’t feel at home in their own castle?

Truthfully, Kyungsoo only knows what to do when he’s on a voyage. Participating in cultural exchanges and engaging in language immersion trips take up most of his time. He _likes_ travelling. Only then does he feel like an asset to his people, like he can return home wielding the spoils of his knowledge and be known as a helpful prince. That’s all he wants.

The hardest part is that he gets lonely.

He never travels alone, of course. There’s always an entourage of security, along with whatever local guide or government representative can be hired to tour Kyungsoo around. But it’s not like having an equal. Someone who isn’t paid to travel with him, but who _wants_ to, is impossible to find. No matter how many times Kyungsoo leaves an open invitation to his brothers or Jongin, no one ever comes along with him.

Maybe he should go directly to Minseok and ask where to help for tonight. Decision made, Kyungsoo hurries down the corridor and up a dozen flights of stairs to his brother’s private quarters in the eastern tower. It’s still early enough that Minseok is likely breakfasting with Luhan in private, as is their custom on weekends, but Kyungsoo knocks twice just in case.

There’s an answering yell. He pushes open the door and Minseok grunts from underneath the duvet.

“Good morning,” Kyungsoo calls.

“Hey.” Minseok sits up. His hair is greasy and he’s frowning, but he’s awake before noon, and that alone is a testament to Luhan’s power. “What’s up?”

Luhan himself emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of pine-scented steam. He beams at Kyungsoo and shuffles over, pink slippers and all, to draw him into a bathrobe hug. It’s not the kind of intimacy Kyungsoo would take with anyone else — but Luhan is special. There’s something about his genuine aura, his warmth, that draws everyone in. The royal family aren’t exceptions, and even their constituents love Luhan in a way they’d never loved the absent and sheltered Kyungsoo.

But Kyungsoo’s always been grateful for that. Minseok needs someone strong to rule beside him, and they have a happy relationship. Being soulmates is definitely a perk. His eyes catch now on the soulmark exposed on Luhan’s shoulder: the delicate smattering of five oak leaves.

“Morning, Kyungsoo.” Luhan points to the breakfast tray on the bedside table. “Do you want some orange juice?”

“No, thanks,” he says, settling into an armchair. “I just came to ask if there’s anything you need for tonight. I don’t have a schedule, so I’m free to help out wherever.”

Minseok and Luhan exchange glances. “You didn’t receive a schedule notice this morning?” Luhan asks. “That’s odd. The staff must have forgotten.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Minseok stretches for the breakfast tray and snags a slice of toast. “I think Baekhyun actually requested you in the Red Room today. He mentioned something during dinner last night.”

Right, the dinner that Kyungsoo missed because he was penning a long reply to a language exchange partner in the south. Oblivious, he wrote through the entire debrief for the ball as well, and no one had come to fetch him from his rooms.

That’s not unusual. Kyungsoo is well accustomed to feeling useless.

“Do you know what he wants?”

Minseok shrugs. “He was acting a little…”

“Psychotic?” Kyungsoo finishes. He slumps lower in the seat. “Yeah. Ever since the Phoenix went MIA, he’s been acting crazy.”

Luhan sips a mug of tea. “Perhaps he should hire a personal assistant.” He sets down his mug and passes a second slice of toast to Minseok. “I can understand his devotion to the war efforts, but not this fixation on a single soldier. If the Phoenix is gone, good fucking riddance.”

Ever the diplomat, Minseok nods his assent. There are crumbs at the corner of his mouth that Luhan flicks away. The disgust must be apparent on his face because suddenly Minseok’s eyes are smiling and he’s looking at Kyungsoo like he knows _exactly_ what’s bothering him.

“I guess I’ll find Baekhyun,” he says, watching listlessly as Luhan feeds Minseok another bite of toast. They’re starting to giggle and that’s never a good sign. Guards will be by shortly to wake them, and Kyungsoo decides to impede on their alone time no longer. “See you both tonight.”

“You’re leaving already?” Luhan turns in surprise.

“If I’m needed somewhere else — “ He shrugs. “I’d better go. But I’ll see you before the opening speeches.”

Minseok smiles. “You should wear the pearls tonight.”

That’s an easy request. Kyungsoo agrees and hurries downstairs to the Red Room. It’s still early and he feels like he’s been running amok all over. If he’s being honest with himself, he won’t last the entirety of the ball. Exhaustion will win out at this rate.

Everything would be easier if he could just push through the castle cement.

Just as the thought occurs to him, Kyungsoo feels the headache sprout. Worrying about his power won’t solve any problems, especially not _today’s_ problems, so he pushes all of that aside and pounds on the door of the Red Room. Lightly.

The Red Room is his least favorite place in the castle. When Baekhyun throws open the door happily and invites him in, Kyungsoo crosses the threshold with a feeling of dread. His headache intensifies.

“You’re late.” Baekhyun locks the door behind them and returns to his maps. There’s a flush on his cheeks and his hair is sticking up. A new stack of paperwork stands waist-high underneath the notes on the wall.

Kyungsoo knows the signs. He takes a seat at the table and leans back to scrutinize his brother more closely. “How long have you been in here?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

Baekhyun sighs. He slumps back in his chair and tosses a file across the table. “No. I need your help translating this.”

Instantly Kyungsoo is engaged. He opens the file and looks it over. The language is easy to identify, and he’s not particularly surprised. “East Luxean? What is this for?”

“Our picnic with Prince Junmyeon,” Baekhyun snorts. “What do you think it’s for?”

An uncomfortable silence falls over the table. Kyungsoo is torn — he takes his time thinking over the situation at hand and carefully reviews the first page of the document. He clears his throat.

“You want me to translate military chatter.”

Baekhyun slams a file on the table. “This isn’t chatter. There are _coordinates_ , Kyungsoo. If we know where they’re headed, we can strike preemptively. We can have the element of surprise.”

“Your moles aren’t available for translating?”

“Not with information this valuable. I don’t trust them.”

He bites his lip. “What about your generals?”

“It’s a national holiday. I told them to go home.”

Kyungsoo reluctantly skims the document. It’s transcribed dialogue between what looks like three different soldiers discussing foot ailments, the weather, and a meager potato dinner. A spy probably wrote this in the dark. The transcription is sloppy and difficult to parse. Flipping through the first dozen pages, he can’t see anything noteworthy.

“I don’t see any coordinates,” he says, “Maybe you’re mistaken.”

“Page 48.”

Kyungsoo turns the page. What catches his eye isn’t the coordinates spoken, but the name near the top of the page, embedded in a question phrase and followed by sharp exclamations from each of the speakers. _Prince Chanyeol._

One of the soldiers claims he’s seen the prince. Out of the castle. _Far_ out of the castle, if Baekhyun’s map is correct, and Kyungsoo can’t imagine why the middle prince of Lux would be gallivanting through the forest near the border with Arrendale.

Immediately within the dialogue, the two other soldiers disregard their comrade. Kyungsoo has to agree. It doesn’t make any sense for a foot soldier to recognize a prince, nor for the prince to be seen so far from his home. None of the royal family are currently serving on the front lines, as far as he knows.

That being said, Kyungsoo makes it his business not to know much about the war.

“This isn’t what you’re looking for.” He slides the document back. “It’s hearsay about the middle prince.”

Baekhyun steeples his hands and leans forward. “What about Prince Chanyeol? Any confirmation of his powers?”

“No. Just he-said, she-said about his whereabouts. One of the soldiers thought he saw him at this location.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Baekhyun argues, “Why? “

“I _don’t_ _know_.” Kyungsoo stands. He feels claustrophobic, trapped by maps and chaotic red notes on all sides. Sitting in this room and speculating for a prolonged period of time would make anyone crazy. “If that’s all you needed, I should go.”

Baekhyun doesn’t respond immediately. If only they had the type of relationship where Kyungsoo could storm out of the room, heedless of the consequences. But Baekhyun — dynamic, explosive, headstrong Baekhyun — sometimes loves his country too much to love his brothers.

“Kyungsoo,” he says slowly, “I know you don’t spend a lot of time at home. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re fighting for our lives. That means making sacrifices for our people. Doing things we don’t want to do. _Translating important documents_ so that we better understand our enemy. We don’t even know if the princes of Lux are powered.”

Gritting his teeth hard enough to feel the ache in his whole jaw, Kyungsoo relents. “Fine, I’ll read the damn document.”

“Thank you.” Baekhyun settles back into his chair. Even half-crazed with exhaustion, he’s a charmer, but never the type to be smug about his wins. He’s just doing what he thinks he has to. Kyungsoo can’t blame him, not really. He’s a victim of the war mentality too, albeit in a much different way than the foot soldiers or refugees.

“But,” Kyungsoo continues, flattening one hand on the document, “Regardless of what I find out, you shouldn’t act on this information tonight. You said it yourself, it’s a national holiday. None of the generals are working.”

Baekhyun only shrugs, so Kyungsoo presses, “You can’t orchestrate a strike _alone._ ”

“Okay.” Baekhyun pushes his hair back and sighs. “Deal.”

Satisfied, Kyungsoo reopens the document and gets to work. With any luck, he’ll finish right before the party and escape the typical 2-hour royal primping process before a public appearance. Baekhyun pillows his head in his arms and is asleep within minutes, lulled by the scratching of Kyungsoo’s pen.

It turns out that Kyungsoo’s brief skim was correct. The Lux soldiers gossip about the prince and nothing more. Most of their chatter is worthless — small talk, family secrets, complaints. There is one interesting exchange near the end of the transcription that makes him pause.

“ _Patriot? How could you be a patriot?”_ One of the soldiers teases. “Y _ou wouldn’t recognize Prince Chanyeol if he sat on you. ‘Saw him in the forest’ my ass._ ”

The other soldier, the one who originally claimed to spot the prince at faraway coordinates, only said, “ _He served in the military, too, you know.”_

His comments were again dismissed by his companions, scoffed at like a joke, but Kyungsoo considers it. The information might not be true. If the princes ever fought on the front lines, wouldn’t he know? Wouldn’t Baekhyun have their pictures?

Unless they served under an alias.

It’s an interesting idea. Lux as an idea often appeals to Kyungsoo, because it’s the only neighboring kingdom he hasn’t visited — for obvious reasons — but this is different. He turns the idea over in his head. It grows bigger, lighter, until it’s no longer an idea but a plan. If princes can secretly fight a war, can they secretly end one? What if there’s a way to cross the border into Lux and spy directly on their military?

Kyungsoo closes the document and silently leaves the room. Baekhyun can sleep there amongst his battle plans. He’s got better things to do than help fight a useless war.

 

 

 

When Chanyeol first heard the news of Prince Minseok’s engagement, he thought nothing of it — until a mole came to the royal family with even bigger news: The Kingdom of Ely would be throwing an open ball to celebrate. It’s the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the castle and reconnaissance for any information that could end the war once and for all.

Now facing the immediate prospect of masquerading himself as an Ely merchant, however, Chanyeol’s fear is churning into excitement. What if they actually pull this off? He can return home triumphant, wielding inside information worthy of ending a decade-long war. It’s been a dream his whole life.

“So what are we looking for, exactly?” Sehun fusses with his hair while they plod downstairs. The castle’s a decent walk and they’re on track to be early.

“Anything. Pay attention to the princes most of all.”

“Not a problem. Especially with the hot one.”

Chanyeol snorts. “If you have the opportunity to fuck him, please take it. The look on Junmyeon’s face alone — “

“Even better, what if we’re _soulmates_?”

“Matching _heart soulmarks_ with a prince of Ely?“

They dissolve into laughter. Chanyeol’s glad to lessen Sehun’s stress, even though he didn’t mean to mention soulmarks. Sehun’s had a difficult soulpath ever since a merchant rushed him as a child and grabbed at the skin of his collarbone, where his mark was covered. The merchant saw its heart-like shape and shouted it for crowds of people to hear.

Out of respect, most villagers kept quiet. But everyone knew, and Sehun _knew_ everyone knew, and it still haunts him, the idea that someone might fake their soulmark someday to trick him. It’s usually a sore subject.

As they navigate the city, Chanyeol  keeps them on the side of the road, flitting between celebratory groups and dancing through private parties. Their clothing blends in as inconspicuously as he hoped. He expects some inquisitive looks, but the villagers are either too drunk or too excited to mind two strangers.

Everyone’s very friendly, actually. It’s disconcerting.

The castle unfurls from the forest in shades of gray and blue. It’s enormous, twice as big as their own castle, and from each filament hangs a bright golden flag. Lights along the battlements and the adjacent shore give everything a soft, fairytale appearance.

Chanyeol likes it. He has to ask himself, how much of this extravange was paid for using his own kingdom’s money? Ely had profited off of the war much more than Lux. Again he reminds himself of the targets: Prince Minseok, Prince Baekhyun, and Prince Kyungsoo. The middle prince above all. Nothing else.

Sehun’s mouth falls open a little. “It’s beautiful.”

Chanyeol grits his teeth and follows the thin flow of people up the main gates. There’s a security checkpoint up ahead, and he cranes his neck to see what they’re looking for.

He switches into their mother’s dialect to tell Sehun, “ _We should be fine. They’re not checking papers, only weapons_.”

Sehun nods and adjusts the buttons on his coat. “ _Let’s do this.”_

_“Don’t forget your name.”_

_“Don’t forget yours.”_

Three soldiers are sweeping the incomers for anything dangerous. When Sehun and Chanyeol step forward, they’re asked to open their outerwear and consent to a light sweeping. Even though he _knows_ he doesn’t have a weapon, Chanyeol sweats. These are men he may have shot at. Men he may have hurt.

It’s over quickly and then, suddenly, they’re in the ballroom.

The room is incredible. Enormous golden windows define the east and west walls. Dying sunlight sets everything aglow, and the crowds of gentle dancers look bronzed and picturesque, enough so that Chanyeol can’t immediately differentiate between royal and civilian. It fills him with a fragile longing. If only he could give this kind of luxury to his own people, his own family. It’s relaxing just to stand at the top of the stairs and soak in the celebratory ambience.

Of course, then he sees the thrones. Five of them, raised onto a rotunda, encircling the end of the ballroom. Only one is filled, and from this distance Chanyeol can’t tell by who.

Sehun’s eyes are glued to the expansive table of finger food in the corner. “I’m going to… mingle. Extract information.” He wiggles his hand. “You know.”

Chanyeol grabs his hand before he can run away. “Be careful. Meet me back here at midnight, okay?”

“You too.” Sehun squeezes his hand back and turns.

The crowd swallows him whole and Chanyeol is left adrift in a sea of enemies.

He takes stock of the crowd again. Mostly merchants like he’s pretending to be, some noblemen, some farmers whose only giveaway are their rough hands. Tons of people look like foreign dignitaries or ambassadors, decked out in the neighboring kingdoms’ styles, but Chanyeol’s not interested in any of them.

It’s gonna be a long night. He takes his time encircling the ballroom and looking for the anyone who sticks out as a member of the royal family. The dance floor is pleasantly crowded. There’s a lot of “excuse me” and accidental touching going on. By the time he gets to the end of the room, the throne arena is empty.

Someone taps him on the elbow. “Excuse me?”

Chanyeol turns around and there’s a beautiful guy standing there draped in pearls. Heavy eyebrows furrow over huge, dark eyes, and Chanyeol’s momentarily stunned at the youthful look to his face. He’s the most eye-catching thing in the room.

Chanyeol’s too startled to say anything at first. “Uh.” He wipes his hands on his trousers. “Hi?”

The guy smiles and his whole face glows. “Hi. If I may, where did you get your boots? They look like excellent leather.”

Some part of Chanyeol’s brain is screaming that _this has to be one of the princes_ but he can’t immediately tell which one. Not Minseok, because there’s no ring or crown. This guy is endearingly short, but aren’t they all? He’s wearing a modest white top that completely exposes his neck and chest. A dozen criss-cross rows of pearls shiver on his skin as part of a delicate neckpiece.

Chanyeol swallows. He manages to say, “A shop... just up the road, actually.”

“Oh, really,” the prince nods, “Who’s the craftsman? Maybe I know them.”

“You wouldn’t,” Chanyeol backtracks so fast he almost leans backwards. They’re standing so close he can smell the man’s robes, obviously washed in lavender. Oh, God, Chanyeol’s so stupid. He should ask something. Anything relevant.

Chanyeol continues in a burst, “He _just_ moved to town, you know? After all the additional taxes, he was worried, but…”

He trails off as the prince’s smile slips away. “Surely he’s benefitting from the redistribution as much as any merchant?”

“Yes, of course,” Chanyeol replies smoothly. “As am I. Your family is doing a wonderful job.”

“Thank you.” The prince’s heavy eyebrows come together. “And what do you sell?”

That’s an easy lie. Earlier they agreed on a nondescript occupation. “Wax.”

“Wax?”

“My brother and I make candles, soaps, sealants, and the like.”

The prince smiles again, open and pleasant. Chanyeol casts his gaze away, pretending to look for Sehun, when really he just needs to center himself away from this conversation. The pearl prince is distractingly beautiful. They’re just chatting in the corner and Chanyeol’s all hot under the collar. This must be Baekhyun.

The prince snags two wine glasses from a passing waiter and offers one to Chanyeol. “I’m glad you could attend, then. I’ve never met a waxmaker before.”

Gratefully Chanyeol sips at the wine. It’s warm and sweet. “Yes, I’ve only recently moved here. I actually don’t know too much about the kingdom yet.”

“I can tell.”

“Excuse me?” Chanyeol’s heart skips a beat. “I — sorry, how?”

The prince dips into a short bow. Chanyeol stops breathing. How the _fuck_ does he know that Chanyeol’s royal — ?

“It’s customary to greet a prince with a bow in Ely.” He straightens. “My name is Prince Kyungsoo.”

He’s demonstrating _how_ to bow. Oh, thank God. Chanyeol exhales and realizes he’s caught in a casual conversation with the only person he wanted to avoid. The stress on his face must be clear because Kyungsoo briefly touches his arm. In a misguided attempt to soothe, the prince says, “It’s alright. I’m not a big fan of how we’re caught up in the formalities here.”

“My apologies,” Chanyeol says, and though he’s never bowed to a single person besides his older brother, he sinks into a deep nod towards Kyungsoo. It doesn’t feel too weird. At least he’s got a confirmed identity, even if it’s… the worst case scenario. He doesn’t know which angle to take. What can he gain from this conversation? Which aspects of politics does Kyungsoo handle for the kingdom, if any?

Kyungsoo blinks. “And your name?”

“Ch...ester.”

Chester. A name he practiced a hundred times this morning. Chanyeol’s a walking disaster. He briefly looks to the ceiling, praying to whomever is listening that he gets at least _one_ bit of information. That would make this whole hellish night worth it.

That’s when one of the rafters creaks. It’s directly above Chanyeol’s head. He watches in stupefied shock as the ceiling shudders, sending the room into shouts, and the wooden beam cracks down the middle. It’s about to fall.

Someone shoves Chanyeol right in the chest and he’s thrown backwards. The wine glass shatters over his boots. He lands ribs-first on the ballroom floor, both hands splayed over the tile. The whole room goes silent.

When Chanyeol looks up, he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Kyungsoo holds the eighty-foot beam aloft with one hand. The other hand is outstretched towards the ground, where a series of rock pillars have emerged to catch the far end of the beam a hair’s breadth above the crowd. Everything is suspended in a single moment of impossibility.

Then a man in a purple cloak is at the prince’s side barking orders to the wait staff and guards. “Check for injuries. Get this area cleared, send everyone to the northern floor.” The man turns and Chanyeol sees that he’s wearing a thick crown of sapphires. He points directly at Chanyeol. “You, come with me. You, too. And you, and you.”

The three others chosen — those standing closest to Chanyeol and the prince — glance at one another in shocked disbelief.

That’s definitely Prince Minseok, then. Trembling from the adrenaline, Chanyeol gets to his feet and brushes off his shirt. Kyungsoo is wide-eyed but unruffled. He meets Chanyeol’s eyes and looks quickly away. Minseok pulls his brother away into a whispered conversation just as Sehun crashes into Chanyeol from behind.

“Oh, my God,” Sehun gasps, “Are you okay? What the fuck was that?”

“ _I’m fine,_ ” Chanyeol answers him in their dialect, “ _I don’t know what happened. The roof just…_ “ He doesn’t even know the word for collapse.

Sehun starts babbling. “ _I saw him push you and I started running. Fuck, Chanyeol, he’s got so much power. What do we call that? Strength, force_?” He pulls at his own hair. “ _This is insane. Jun’s gonna flip. This is why they never send their princes to the front lines._ ”

In the rising pandemonium, Kyungsoo turns back over one shoulder and meets Chanyeol’s eyes again. “Sorry.” He takes a step toward them.

Minseok grabs his brother’s arm. Chanyeol tries to arrange his face into something conciliatory and not shell-shocked. It might be his imagination, but he thinks Kyungsoo’s attention lingers on Sehun for a second before turning back to Minseok.

Chanyeol watches the crown prince lead Kyungsoo away. They disappear through glass doors. “ _I don’t know,”_  he tells Sehun. “I  _don’t know, maybe he’s just powerful. This isn’t over yet. I’m going in there, okay? Stay here._ ”

Right on cue, a group of soldiers gesture to Chanyeol and the others who were selected. Sehun tugs at the back of Chanyeol’s coat. “ _What should I do?”_

_“Nothing. Just be quiet.”_

A soldier grabs onto Chanyeol’s bicep and marches him across the floor. He tenses so violently that he’s sure the soldier can feel it. He wants to knock that hand away. They move quickly through the muttering crowd and the glass doors. One of the women being escorted behind Chanyeol stumbles over her dress and steps on the back of his boots.

They walk down three corridors, left, right, then left, before arriving at a smaller set of doors. The woman enters first. The other three — Chanyeol and two men who look like nobles from faraway lands, if their exotic peacock hats are any indication — are pressed against the wall to wait.

He’s definitely sweating now. What’s the point of this? Are they being questioned for potentially jeopardizing the castle infrastructure? All Chanyeol did was look up.

Junmyeon’s going to kill him.

But at least he knows this with complete certainty: the youngest prince of Ely is blessed with earth powers beyond anyone’s imagination. He’s learned something about the elusive Kyungsoo tonight. Is it enough to turn the tides?

When the woman reappears, she’s pale but unharmed. She doesn’t meet their eyes as she returns to the ballroom. The two men enter next, one after another, and there’s a sudden crunching sound behind the door. Like snapping wood. The men each return to the party. Finally it’s Chanyeol’s turn to be pushed forcefully into the mysterious room.

It’s an office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a long wooden table. A ruined chair rests off to the side, crushed into sawdust and scarcely recognizable. Minseok sits somber in the middle with arms folded, backed by an intimidating line of soldiers. They look at Chanyeol like he’s a bug scuttling on the carpet. He takes a deep breath.

Kyungsoo’s standing in the middle of the room, turned toward the chair. He looks over when Chanyeol enters and his face is completely different from ten minutes ago. All the light, all the softness, has gone from him. His chin and shoulders are high despite the obvious failure to manifest his power earlier. He looks royal. Chanyeol recognizes that weight.

“Mr. Chester.” Minseok nods at him. “We’re sorry to inconvenience your night like this. We won’t take long. Would you mind removing your wristband?”

Chanyeol’s hands fly to his wristband. The wristband that has never left his arm, the one he’s never taken off in front of _anyone_. Not even Sehun. It covers his soulmark. He considers Kyungsoo’s show of force earlier and his heart races. “Why?”

“We would like to see your soulmark. I can assure you, those in this room are sworn to secrecy, but we have reason to believe that you might be Prince Kyungsoo’s soulmate.”

No way. Chanyeol inhales to argue, but he can’t get any words out. He should’ve put the pieces together faster. It all makes sense — those with powers can’t control themselves until physically meeting their soulmate. He _knows_ that. He can feel it. Now he’s stuck in a huge misunderstanding with his sworn enemies asking him to bare his literal soul.

Should he reveal his soulmark? There’s no taking that action back. The entire royal family of Ely would know Chanyeol’s greatest weakness, and if they ever learned his true identity, he’d be dead in weeks. Or worse, his real soulmate would be dead. Killed for a pointless war. It’s the worst thing he can imagine.

Chanyeol sets his shoulders. “No.”

Prince Minseok uncrosses his arms. “Excuse me?”

Before Chanyeol can repeat himself and probably get flayed alive, the door crashes open. A fluffy-haired guy in a billowing navy shirt stops over the threshold and beams. He looks at Kyungsoo and gushes, “Is it _true_?”

“We were just about to find out.” Prince Minseok’s eyes narrow. “Please take a seat, Baekhyun.”

Oh, _shit._ Chanyeol gets a good look at his intended target for the night and swallows hard. His face is bright and he looks exactly like Chanyeol imagined. There’s an ominous outline of a dagger clipped inside his skintight pants. It has to be a deliberate move, a show of power, that he waltzes with weapons in his own home.

Maybe their information on Baekhyun isn’t entirely accurate.

The newly-arrived prince sits comfortably beside Minseok and looks between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo. All three princes of Ely are in the same room. Chanyeol can feel them looking at him, waiting for him to make a move, and his hands curl into fists. Suddenly he’s overwhelmed with indecision.

He should hurt them. This is his chance. Right?

Chanyeol imagines his brother’s face, twisted with disappointment when he hears that Chanyeol had a clean shot at the future of Ely and _didn’t take it_. He closes his eyes and breathes deep. He has to do it. He asks forgiveness.

Before he can move to attack, something soft touches his hand. Kyungsoo is standing close beside Chanyeol, covering his wrist with loose fingers and centering all focus on his proximity and timid smile. “You don’t have to show us,” he says softly. “There’s a way to tell otherwise.”

“I know,” Chanyeol replies automatically. He knows immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. Only royals have powers, and therefore only royals should know about the method of identifying royal soulmates. He’s screwed up.

Prince Minseok leans forward. “You… know another way?”

Baekhyun bites his lip. “What is it?”

“Well.” Chanyeol shifts his hand out of Kyungsoo’s slack grip. His palms are sweating. “I’ve heard stories about royals. From travellers in my village.”

“Which village?” Minseok asks.

“Oh, it’s tiny. Up north… in Omashu.”

Baekhyun frowns. “Never heard of it.”

The two princes at the table exchange glances. For a second, Chanyeol thinks it’s all over. His bluff will be called and he’ll be slaughtered here and now.

Then Kyungsoo sighs. “It doesn’t matter.” He rolls his shoulders back once, twice, and cracks all ten fingers. “Let’s just try this.”

Reluctantly Chanyeol’s fists come up in a position of self-defence. If Kyungsoo’s going to use his power here, in this enclosed space, then Chanyeol will be damned if he’s unprepared for the attack. His posturing surprises a laugh out of Kyungsoo.

It happens with no warning. His soft hands raise like he’s about to speak and suddenly a wall of stone swirls in front of Chanyeol. It’s geometric and omniscient, humming at a frequency just high enough for human ears. It moves around him like water until solidifying into a stone cage. Chanyeol is thrown under darkness.

Darkness and silence.

His first instinct is to make light — but that would betray his identity _and_ deplete his oxygen supply, so Chanyeol has a few long moments of full-body panic. If he’s trapped in here, Sehun won’t make it out.

Then there’s a crack in the stone.

One finger breaks through the wall and slices downward like a butcher’s knife through spongecake. Kyungsoo cuts down the rock as easily as he built it. Lights floods through and Chanyeol, blinking, allows himself to be tugged out of the cage. On the outside, it’s a perfect cylindrical shape. A work of art.

He _knows_ what this means. Chanyeol tries to speak, but he can’t — he can’t make himself say the words out loud. _We’re soulmates._

Kyungsoo, with eyes wide and chest rising rapidly, looks similarly affected. “You,” he says, then clears his throat. “Um.”

Distantly he’s aware of Baekhyun yelling, the soldiers whispering, and Minseok smiling like he’s not a warmonger, but Chanyeol can’t focus past Kyungsoo licking his lips and trying to find the right words. He needs to leave. Before he defines this golden lightness in his chest and gives name to what he’s feeling — excitement. Victory. _Hope_.

“I have to go,” Chanyeol says at the exact same time Kyungsoo says, “I’m your soulmate.”

The room falls silent. “Look,” Chanyeol continues, “There’s been some misunderstanding.” He adjusts his coat collar. “My brother’s waiting for me, I really should go.”

He turns and walks towards the door. For a riotous moment, blood rushing in his ears, Chanyeol thinks he’s getting away with it. He touches the doorknob. It crumbles into sand.

“Actually,” Kyungsoo says softly, “you can’t leave.”

Chanyeol whips around. All three princes of Ely are looking at him in various confusion — Minseok, standing, with arms gripping the table — but his whole focus is on Kyungsoo. “Why?”

From the corner of his eye, Chanyeol sees Baekhyun stand so that he and the crown prince are at an equal height. They form a wall of royal intimidation in Chanyeol’s peripherals, but he still can’t look away from Kyungsoo. Impassive Kyungsoo with his downturned lips. Chanyeol feels more trapped by those spotlight eyes than by the stone cage.

Baekhyun interjects, “Wait, Kyungsoo. It’s illegal to detain an innocent citizen.” He shakes his head. “We can’t keep him here.”

Kyungsoo folds his hands behind his back. “He’s not one of our citizens.”

It’s so quiet. Chanyeol takes in a very even breath and locks his knees. His mind is racing, thinking back to everything he said earlier. “What do you mean? I recently moved to the kingdom, as I said — “

“From where?” Kyungsoo takes a step closer.

“North.”

“Or east? From Lux?” Kyungsoo takes another careful step.

Chanyeol presses his back against the door. If he can force it open like this, he should be able to sprint down the hallway fast enough to get away. Then it’s only a matter of seconds to find Sehun and beat it out of the castle.

He just found his soulmate and they’re already trying to kill each other. Great.

Chanyeol holds out his other hand in a peacekeeping gesture, as if he’s facing a wild animal instead of a man wrapped in pearls.  There’s a chance that this is only a wild guess, a dramatic game to test Chanyeol’s resilience. “I don’t know where the Kingdom of Lux is. Like I said, I’m from a town up north. I’m just a waxmaker, Your Highness.”

“You’re lying.” Kyungsoo takes another step and suddenly they’re chest-to-chest in front of the door. He’s looking up at Chanyeol through angry brows and a tense jaw, but his words are still quiet and private. “ _I heard you speaking East Luxean with your brother._ ”

Chanyeol’s heart stops. “ _How do you know our language?_ ”

“ _How did you get across our border_?”

No. This can’t be happening. He can’t think past his shock. High Commons is the only endorsed language in Ely, and it’s been forcibly standardized. It’s impossible that a prince would know Chanyeol’s own dying dialect — which is only spoken in the most remote villages, high in the foggy mountains, where his mother was born.

He opens his mouth. There aren’t enough words in either language to save him. He can’t remember what he and Sehun said earlier. “ _I’m travelling with my brother,”_ he repeats.

“ _Like hell you are.”_ Kyungsoo snaps. “ _You’re a spy. That your real name, Mr. Chester?”_

_“I’m not a spy!”_

Kyungsoo makes a sharp upward movement with his hands and suddenly two blocks of stone are wrapping around Chanyeol’s wrists and dragging him to the floor. He lands hard on his knees. For the first time that night, he feels real fear. Across the room, the soldiers stir into attention.

The other two princes scramble to their sides. Minseok’s robes billow ominously behind him. He looks down at Chanyeol, more curious than angry. “What’s happening here? Kyungsoo?”

“He’s a spy from Lux.”

“I told you, I’m _not._ ” Chanyeol pulls his wrists back as hard as he can. The stone is unbearably strong and it cuts into his skin. “Just listen to me. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Lightly, Kyungsoo rests a boot on Chanyeol’s fingers. It’s just enough pressure to keep him from struggling. “Speak fast.”

He can feel his fingers twitching. He should’ve known better than to come here without a better understanding of all three princes, and Chanyeol thinks hopelessly back to the weeks of careful plotting that brought him to this moment. He’s an idiot.

There’s only one way to survive this. Before he can lose his nerve, Chanyeol looks up through his own frizzy hair and glares directly at Kyungsoo. “Yeah, I’m from Lux. I grew up there.” He grits his teeth. “But I’m not a soldier anymore.”

“Then why are you here?” Minseok asks.

“I’m here to stop the war.”

 _That_ gets a reaction. Baekhyun snorts and turns away, as if dismissing the very notion of a peace-seeking Luxean, much like Chanyeol himself would do in the opposite situation. Definitely not as naive as they’d hoped. Minseok only closes his eyes briefly. Like he’s praying.

But Kyungsoo moves his boot back. He’s biting his lip, looking down at Chanyeol’s bleeding wrists, and Chanyeol hopes he looks pitiful and common enough that these princes show mercy — at least for now.

Kyungsoo crosses his arms. “Why aren’t you loyal to your crown?”

“I _am_ loyal to the crown,” Chanyeol explains. There’s a hysterical giddiness in his chest, an inappropriate reaction to the high-stress situation, that he has to breathe through before he can continue. “Just not the war. No one supports the war. Even foot soldiers can see that neither side will win.” He catches Minseok’s eye. “No offence to your majesties. The kingdoms are too evenly balanced and too lacking in inspiration. We have no genuine reason to fight each other anymore, and both militaries can feel that.”

Minseok crouches so they’re eye-to-eye. Final pricks of sunlight catch on his crown and a million sapphires wink down at Chanyeol like a perverse reflection of his own kingdom’s crown, which is adorned with rubies in the exact same places. Their kingdoms really are similar. Whatever personal misgivings Chanyeol has about the people of Ely, he knows they’re not so different. Everything he just said is _true_.

The best part is that Minseok isn’t running at the first mention of antiwar sentiment. Maybe there’s a chance here. If the crown is already open to peace negotiations, he can call for a diplomatic meeting as soon as he returns home. Without needing a weakness to exploit.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Minseok asks, “Why should we believe you?”

Chanyeol thinks fast and tilts his chin down. He knows he’s got a puppy face and he needs every advantage right now. “I’ll show you my soulmark.”

“That doesn’t prove you’re telling the truth about your beliefs,” Kyungsoo says softly. He exchanges a heavy glance with Baekhyun that sends a chill down Chanyeol’s spine. There are so many elements to this conversation that he’s missing, cues he can observe but not understand, and it’s making him desperate.

“I wouldn’t lie to my soulmate,” he insists.

But Kyungsoo is already leaning over and whispering into Baekhyun’s ear. Baekhyun nods and looks to Minseok. “Give me two minutes,” he says, flashing an uncomfortable smile. He hurries from the room. Chanyeol cranes his neck back to watch him leave.

The immediate threat of attack seems to have passed, but Chanyeol’s wrists are still being squeezed by rock handcuffs and his knees are aching. “I’m serious,” he continues, twitching his left hand. “I’ll show you. I want to know for sure, anyway.”

Kyungsoo glances at Minseok and seems to wait for his nonverbal approval before moving closer. Minseok stands and Kyungsoo takes his place crouching at Chanyeol’s eye level. The faint lavender smell of his clothes returns when he moves both hands to the rocks over Chanyeol’s wrists.

The serious look on his face very clearly says, _Do not fuck this up. Attack and die._

Chanyeol swallows hard. The rock handcuffs dissolve like sand and finally he can sit back and massage his sore wrists. Flakes of dried blood peel off and float to the floor. He doesn’t feel particularly injured — he’s dealt with worse pain — but spends a long moment inspecting himself just to think over the situation.

He’s got no choice. He offered to show his soulmark. But what if he runs now? Just bursts for the window and crashes right through? Chanyeol has enough faith in his physical strength to make it at least that far. It’s the safe option.

As if hearing those second thoughts aloud, Kyungsoo extends his hand with an expectant, heavy gaze. Sitting across from each other like this is intimate. Chanyeol hesitates. But he wants to _know,_  without a doubt, if this is true. If Kyungsoo is his soulmate.

Because that would change everything.

Hope wins. Chanyeol removes his wristband and hands over his forearm. Kyungsoo touches him tenderly, slowly, and with soft hands. The soulmark is a complex series of brushstrokes that, to Chanyeol’s familiar eye, represents the intersection of two separate images: a rising phoenix and a horned mask.

It takes several seconds of anticlimactic silence for Chanyeol to notice his own hands shaking. He’s never felt this vulnerable. The lack of a reaction is making it worse — Kyungsoo’s just _staring_.

One finger runs along the length of the mark, both tracing a vein and tickling Chanyeol’s sensitive skin. Kyungsoo’s fingers are soft enough that the touch feels nice. But Chanyeol needs an answer. He clears his throat. “Like what you see?”

Without hesitation Kyungsoo reaches over his own head and snaps apart his necklace. Hundreds of ivory pearls bounce between them in a sudden cascade of jewelry. Chanyeol’s first instinct is to reach out and save what he can, but Kyungsoo holds tight to his wrist and only one hand flails unhelpfully towards the pearls.

 _What a waste,_ Chanyeol thinks, horrified. Then he notices Kyungsoo’s bare chest. His soulmark is stamped right over his heart. It’s undeniably the same symbol. The phoenix-and-horns. Chanyeol’s mark.

“Oh,” he breathes, and he can’t look away.

“Oh,” Kyungsoo agrees. He’s stroking Chanyeol’s wrist in earnest now, thumbing over the mark with a hungry kind of attention that heats up the space between them. Chanyeol catches himself leaning forward. Tentatively he uses two fingers to touch Kyungsoo’s chest. The soulmark is solid and dark against his skin. It’s real.

Kyungsoo looks up and his eyes are shining. “I — “

The door slams open and cracks against the wall. Chanyeol startles and jerks backwards. He almost forgot where they were. He almost forgot that Minseok stands beside them, eyes wide with wonder, because he was so mesmerized by that mark over Kyungsoo’s heart. Chanyeol covers his wrist.

Two guards push Sehun into the room. Baekhyun whirls through the door after him, brandishing one hand like a waiter presenting a meal, and says, “I’ve brought the brother.”

Sehun’s lower lip wobbles. Fearfully he takes in the line of soldiers against the far wall and Chanyeol on his knees, probably looking like absolute hell, with Minseok a looming figure above him. Chanyeol’s so unprepared for his entrance that he doesn’t know how to communicate that he’s fine — he just looks dumbly between Sehun and the mess of pearls on the ground hopes that he _gets_ it.

Even though they’re brothers, Chanyeol and Sehun have never been good at silent communication.

Sehun gets one look at him and bursts into tears. Huge, fake, crocodile tears roll down his cheeks, and he slaps both hands over his face in an apparent outburst of emotion. “Don’t kill us, Your Highness,” he begs, falling dramatically to his knees, “Oh, please don’t kill us! It’s not true! My brother fell off a roof as a child and suffers from severe idiocy, absolutely everything he said is a lie.”

To be fair, that’s the _exact_ fallback plan they concocted in the forest three days ago. Now Chanyeol feels utterly stupid as all three princes look at him in various expressions of disbelief. Baekhyun’s mouth hangs open.

“If we didn’t suspect you before, we certainly do now,” Kyungsoo sighs, relinquishing his hold on Chanyeol’s wrist and standing up. Their moment is long over and any headway Chanyeol made is evaporating from the room.

Minseok roughly pulls Sehun to his feet. “Get up. I hate whining.”

“Your Highness,” he presses, “I swear, we’re innocent — “

“This audience is over. You will be held in the palace under suspicion of espionage until further notice.” Minseok glances at the line of soldiers and half of the mob instantly break away to march out the door. “I’ll be returning to my engagement party. Kyungsoo, please take care of this.”

With a last scrutinizing glance, Minseok led half of the security detail outside and left the room in an uncomfortable limbo. Sehun’s obviously confused, finally looking between Chanyeol and Kyungsoo and noticing the tension.

Chanyeol needs to snap out of it. Regardless of what’s happening to him personally, they’re undercover in enemy territory and he won’t let Sehun take the fall for anything. Kyungsoo stands and brushes stray pearls off of his clothes. Chanyeol follows, keeping his hands up and unthreatening, and carefully looks at Baekhyun.

“Let’s talk about this,” he offers, moving to stand in front of Sehun. “Maybe we have something to offer one another.”

“Later.” Baekhyun snaps his fingers. “You heard the man. Escort these ruffians to the dungeons.”

Kyungsoo rests a hand on his brother’s sleeve. “Wait.”

One word from the youngest prince and the whole room stops. Chanyeol pays close attention to the sharp, halting movements of the soldiers struggling to follow orders. The tall guy at the end looks comically surprised every time Kyungsoo opens his mouth. Maybe the prince’s time away from the castle has made him an unpopular leader?

At least Chanyeol knows he’s safe — for now. The soulmark bought them an indefinite amount of time.

Then Kyungsoo says, “I’ll escort them. Meet us downstairs.”

In one flurry of movement, Kyungsoo drops the floor from beneath their feet.

Through the instant feeling of vertigo, Chanyeol hears Sehun screaming. Lights flash by in dizzy whites and reds. He reaches out to catch hold of something, anything, but the fall is over as soon as it started and the three of them are suddenly settled in a plain bedroom.

The entire thing lasts maybe 12 seconds. Chanyeol’s winded.

“What are you doing?” He explodes, “Manipulating _matter_?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t even flinch. “This is a cement castle. We don’t have much time alone. Tell me, are you in communication with the royal family of Lux?”

“Why?”

“If you really want to stop the war, you’ll get a message to the crown prince for me.” Kyungsoo looks between them. “Can you do it?”

That’s a risky gamble. Chanyeol thinks on his feet — if he agrees too quickly, he’ll look suspicious. If he disagrees, he might be deemed useless and killed. It’s not much of a choice.

“Yes,” he says slowly, “We can get a message to the royal family.”

Peripherally, he sees Sehun’s head whip towards him. Luckily, the youngest prince of Lux knows when not to speak. Faraway footsteps echo from the corridor outside as Kyungsoo urgently grabs his wrist again. They look at each other and Chanyeol understands what he’s about to say before he even speaks.

“Then I’ll make sure you’re released,” Kyungsoo says. “Just trust me.”

“Wait!” Chanyeol holds on as he starts to pull away. “Tell us the message now. Before they come back.”

There’s only enough time for Kyungsoo to solemnly shake his head before the door is bursting open. The tall soldier enters first, brandishing a sword and ordering the two brothers onto the ground. Chanyeol’s face is smashed into the carpet by rough hands. When he sits up, hands shackled behind his back, Kyungsoo is gone.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo runs from the Red Room and barely slides onto the rotunda before his name is announced from the parapets. There’s a colossal and polite clapping, nothing extraordinary, but the sheer number of people looking almost makes him seize up next to Baekhyun. The ballroom can hold over a thousand people and this is no small party.

Carefully he angles himself so that Baekhyun can’t see the outline of papers tucked into his new shirt.

But Kyungsoo doesn’t have time to feel nervous, because then the trumpeteers take off and his brother’s name is being called out, loud and exalted.

Minseok and Luhan stroll forward hand-in-hand. Luhan is beaming and waving at the crowd, but Minseok only has one smile for the public and it’s political. Kyungsoo can tell by the way he’s holding himself — relaxed, shoulders back — that he’s happy, if not expressive. They make a grand couple.

It’s Ely custom to kick off royal events with the kingdom anthem. The live band tucked directly underneath the rotunda taps into motion with an upbeat ballad. Kyungsoo could perform this in his sleep. Minseok steps to the front of the rotunda and, as the crowd quiets in preparation, he sings.

It’s meant to be a peaceful and patriotic moment. But Kyungsoo can’t think of anything but the men in a locked room downstairs.

His soulmate.

Surreptitiously he rubs at his chest with one hand, remembering the mark against a stranger’s skin. He doesn’t even know the guy’s real name.

The party commences in a whirlwind of small talk and clean-up. Foreign dignitaries flock to the dance floor looking to showcase their latest fads, but the locals keep mostly to themselves and their own traditional dances in the corners of the room, where Luhan and Minseok make slow progress greeting and thanking every attendee. Kyungsoo works to remove the fallen rafter from the center of the room. When that task is done and his brothers are decently distracted, he makes a run for it.

At least he thinks his brothers are distracted.

“Hey, wait!” Baekhyun catches the door just before it closes. He jogs to catch Kyungsoo in the empty corridor. “Are you continuing the interrogation?”

“Interrogation?” Kyungsoo echoes. That’s not what he would call talking to his soulmate.

“I’ll come along. I have an idea.”

Baekhyun sets a brisk pace for the eastern staircase. His words are casual, but Kyungsoo can tell something’s off. The stolen papers folded against his chest feel hot. There aren’t meant to be secrets between brothers.

But he chooses not to argue. “Fine. What’s your idea?”

“Ransom.”

He stops walking. “ _What_?”

Baekhyun slows but doesn’t wait for him. He turns over one shoulder, eyes bright. “We have two citizens of Lux in our castle. Why not use that to our advantage?”

“Baekhyun, we can’t _do_ that.” Kyungsoo stalks forward and grabs his arm. “One of them is my soulmate.”

“Exactly. He’s already on our side, so he won’t mind —  “

“No.” Kyungsoo shakes his head. “No, we can’t.”

Baekhyun stops and covers Kyungsoo’s hand on his arm gently. The corridor chandelier casts an eerie glow over his beautiful, angular face, but he’s not smiling. “He served in the military. He’ll be worth something to their generals. Nothing will happen to him, Kyungsoo. I promise.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Kyungsoo presses. “I said _no._  We don’t even know who they are. They could be nobodies, total civilians. The generals won’t care. I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“But I am.” Baekhyun pushes Kyungsoo’s hand off his arm. “Don’t be selfish.”

“Then don’t be a control freak! Stop thinking about the war for one second and think about _the people_!”

Kyungsoo doesn’t mean to yell, but his voice echoes against the stone. He watches, both horrified and light with relief, as Baekhyun absorbs those words. This has been coming for months. It’s surreal now to be in the middle of it, finally hashing out the disagreements they’ve swallowed after every conversation.

Baekhyun physically braces himself with balled fists. He stands so they’re eye-to-eye, breathing deep with emotions held in. “Are you aware of how little we know about the princes of Lux? Absolutely nothing. We don’t even know if they’re powered. All we know are their _fucking names_ , and any information we get beyond that is imperative to winning the war. You do want that, right? To win the war?”

He touches one trembling hand to his lips as if collecting himself, then continues, “I can’t consider the delicacy of your feelings when people are dying. I won’t apologize for that. This is happening and you can cry about it to Minseok later, but right now, I _will_ use those Luxeans as leverage to get information.”

Baekhyun steps away and turns like he’s about to continue walking. Kyungsoo feels numb, suspended outside of himself, but something in his chest is giving way and a torrent of emotions pours out.

“I don’t care about winning the war,” Kyungsoo says, and his voice is hardly more than a whisper now. “I just want it to end. But don’t pretend like you care about your soldiers when all you prioritize is destroying the enemy at any cost. You’re a competitive, toxic, manipulative general who gets away with everything by being royal. You haven’t found your soulmate, so you don’t respect mine. These people have done you no wrong, Baekhyun, and you want to interrogate them and dangle them like prizes in front of dangerous people.” Kyungsoo wipes tears off his cheek. “You’re wrong. There’s a better way to save us.”

He can’t even look at the shattered expression on Baekhyun’s face. They’re both crying. Kyungsoo turns away so he can compose himself, but as soon as his back is turned, he hears the tapping of Baekhyun’s boots as he flees down the hall.

Kyungsoo exhales a shuddering sigh. Of course — his words don’t matter. Baekhyun’s still hell-bent on getting what he wants and nothing will change that. He feels almost dizzy with the overstimulation of emotions from the past three hours. They’ve _never_ fought like that. Something between he and Baekhyun might be broken. Permanently.

If anything, Kyungsoo is more resolved than ever. He knows what he needs to do. Briefly skating his fingertips over his own chest, over the soulmark and the paper pressed on top of it, he takes a deep breath and goes downstairs.

He bypasses the guards with a nod and unlocks the bolted door, half-expecting to see Baekhyun already wielding torture instruments. But it’s just the two brothers, sitting on the floor, surrounded by what looks like the debris of several escape attempts. Shattered glass from the skylight trickles over the carpet. Judging by the blood on the taller one’s hands, they weren’t small enough to crawl through and escape above ground.

They both stand when he enters the room. “That was fast,” the shorter one comments, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tea time already?”

“Shut up.” Mr. Chester — or whatever his real name is — glares at his brother before looking right at Kyungsoo. “Are you keeping your promise?”

“Yeah, but the plan’s changed. We have to leave now.” Kyungsoo crosses the room quickly and pulls out the paperwork he stole from the Red Room. Tossing it on the bed, he points at the squiggly lines across the map. “This is our most recent sketch of the battlefield. My brother wants to use you as ransom against the Luxean generals, but I have a better idea. If I escort you through my country, will you escort me through yours?”

Both men are wide-eyed and absorbing the paper to its entirety. This is a risk like no other, Kyungsoo knows, and he could actually go to prison for treason if anything goes wrong. Divulging military secrets is equivalent to the death penalty, which he’d only narrowly avoid as a member of the royal family. Sweat breaks out across his forehead.

The taller one, his soulmate, is the first to look away. He leans back and runs both hands through his fluffy dark hair. “You want to infiltrate our military.”

“Only until you can get a message to the royal family.”

“Why?”

Kyungsoo folds up the map and tucks it into his shirt. “Because the more I learn about your culture, the easier it will be to convince both of our leaders to stop fighting. I don’t know how to approach Prince Junmyeon yet. I don’t — “ He thinks of Baekhyun and swallows hard. “I don’t know if this is the right decision. But I know I can learn enough about your military to make a difference in the peace talks.”

The shorter man looks visibly upset. His eyebrows are drawn together and he glances between Kyungsoo and the window in suspicion. There’s a commotion beyond the door, and Kyungsoo’s heart leaps. Is that Baekhyun coming to start the interrogation?

“We need to leave _now_ ,” he insists. “Do you trust me?”

His soulmate looks him in the eye. “Yes.”

Kyungsoo wastes no time in flattening his hands to the wall, pushing down the stone, and opening a wide tunnel into the dirt. It’s a thrill to stretch out his hands and feel the power rise naturally, like air bubbles twirling to the surface of a pond. This is how power is meant to feel. It’s been twenty-odd years of accidents and stifled emotions, but now he’s _free_.

The three of them hurry into the passageway just as the door opens. Kyungsoo closes the earth behind them and breathes a deep sigh of relief. They’ve made it.

In the total darkness, someone clears their throat. “Now what?”

Kyungsoo blinks and his vision doesn’t change. “I can tunnel us away from the castle?”

“Do you know which direction to go?”

Well, he supposes, yes. It would definitely help to consult the map first. A muffled yelling echoes from across the stonewall — most likely Baekhyun discovering their escape. He won’t suspect Kyungsoo had anything to do with it for a few hours at least. Betrayal and guilt swirl like a monsoon in Kyungsoo’s chest.

He clears his throat. “Mostly. Let’s just start moving.”

There’s a quick snapping noise and then the taller one is holding something aloft that glows. It’s a tiny flame that casts shadows over their long faces. Kyungsoo blinks in its startling brightness.

“I have a light,” the guy admits.

Kyungsoo frowns. “How did you get that into the castle?”

“Uh,” his soulmate looks at his companion, “We smuggled it.”

Something’s off about that, but they have more pressing matters to attend to. Kyungsoo’s confident that his soulmate won’t attack him, and with a new level of control over his force, he feels steadier and more grounded.

“Okay,” he sighs, and they set off eastwardly.

They travel in that stark lighting through the tunnels for hours. It’s horrifically quiet. Awkward tension mounts the longer they walk without speaking, but Kyungsoo has no clue what to say. He wasn’t around when Minseok discovered Luhan, during a chance diplomatic meeting with the northern territories, nor did he witness his own parents falling in love, obviously. He has no guidelines to follow.

His mind wanders. It’s incredible that he’s not tired, even as he consistently exerts energy rebuilding the dirt around them. Kyungsoo remembers the first time he tried to do something like this — he’d utterly destroyed the west wing. The staff avoided him for weeks, and not long after, he was sent on his first cultural ambassador venture. Not exactly a happy memory.

At one point the light flickers and Kyungsoo whips around to see the taller man falling asleep while walking. His head dips, the flame sputters, and he jerks awake. It’s endearing.

“Let’s stop for now,” Kyungsoo suggests. “We’re far enough from the castle.”

“Can we move above ground?” The younger one rubs his hands together like he’s cold. “There’s no air down here.”

“Too much of a risk.” Kyungsoo bends to press his palms flat against the earth, feeling out for an underground stream or other source of water. Asphyxiation isn’t a concern yet, but thirst is. The countryside this far from the castle isn’t familiar to him. They might pop up in the middle of a crowded village, and the last thing he needs is Baekhyun and a search patrol breathing down his neck.

He continues, “By the way, what are your _real_ names?”

Instead of answering, the younger man turns to his companion and starts off in East Luxean, “ _How are we getting out of this? You can’t take a message to our brother. Isn’t it dangerous to say that we have access to the royal family? What if_ —”

Kyungsoo’s soulmate catapults himself across the corridor to slap his hands over his brother’s mouth, but it’s too late. They both stare fearfully as Kyungsoo gets to his feet. He thinks through the situation and retranslates what he heard, just in case.

“ _Your honorific,_ ” he points to the one who spoke, “ _Are you related to a general? Or…”_ The truth dawns. Shock must solidify across his face because both men cringe. “ _Prince Junmyeon?”_

His soulmate releases the other man and clears his throat. “Nice to meet you, I’m Chanyeol?”

Prince Chanyeol. Kyungsoo’s soulmate isn’t just _from_ the rival, warring kingdom that his people battle against every day — he _leads_ it. That would make his younger brother Prince Sehun.

His first reaction is fear. These men have fought and killed his subjects. Kyungsoo’s a prince, too, but he’s _never_ been on the front lines. He’s never held a weapon outside of mandatory training. The dried blood on Chanyeol’s hands from the earlier attempted escape looks a lot different in this lighting. Suddenly Kyungsoo’s aware of how much bigger they are.

But everything Chanyeol said about peace earlier… the fear evaporates just as quickly. He’s furious. “You lied. You manipulated me.” He jabs a finger into Chanyeol’s chest hard. “I broke you out of my castle and committed treason to save you.”

“No, I wasn’t lying!” Chanyeol waves his hands defensively. “I _do_ want to stop the war. Everything I said about the front lines is true. And I can get a message to Junmyeon.”

“Bullshit. You’re a prince. If you really wanted peace, you’d have it by now.”

Chanyeol blinks. “That’s hypoctritical. What about _you_?”

That makes Kyungsoo pause. “What?”

“You said you wanted peace, too. But Minseok seems to make all the decisions. Well, same situation here.” Chanyeol’s shoulders slump, whether in defeat or exhaustion, it’s unclear. “I’m not the crown prince, either. I have no more claim to my throne than you do to yours.”

They stand in the semi-darkness of the tunnel while Kyungsoo thinks it over. He should’ve guessed from the moment Chanyeol bowed incorrectly. Trusting a member of the royal family has different implications than trusting a random merchant from Lux. He’s been taught since childhood that Prince Junmyeon and his brothers are murderous thieves.

Kyungsoo has a nervous tic of rubbing a hand over the mark on his chest. He’s doing it now, almost unaware, until he catches Chanyeol’s eyes following his hand with a fearful intensity.

They’re in this together. That’s what he has to remember — they’re bound for life by something bigger than borders and truer than blood.

He takes a deep breath. “This is so fucked up.”

The tension breaks. Chanyeol leans against the dirt wall and stares into the light of the flame. There’s a melancholy about him, something dark and hard to see. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “our people have been killing each other for generations.”

“Maybe… it’s supposed to be this way,” Sehun tentatively speaks up. He’s kicking one foot through the dirt absently, like a child, and he doesn’t look up from the ground as he speaks. “Maybe the two of you are meant to stop the war.”

Chanyeol shrugs and rubs at his eyes with one hand. “We’re gonna try, obviously.” He breaks into a huge yawn and the flame flickers. Hopeful, he adds, “Tomorrow?”

Kyungsoo’s endeared by his softness again. He pushes those thoughts away — because no matter how innocent he looks, Chanyeol’s a soldier, and Kyungsoo needs time to consolidate and accept all of his soulmate’s conflicting identities — and plants himself against the opposite wall. “Fine. We can camp here.”

“I’ll take first watch!” Sehun folds himself down and sits.

Kyungsoo sighs. “We’re in a dark cave. Surrounded by dirt four feet in every direction. I don’t think we need a watch rotation.”

Sehun looks a little crestfallen. “Oh. That’s true.”

Then Chanyeol’s giggling, hysterical and breathless, probably more from exhaustion than humor. He slaps both hands over his own face. It would be cute if Kyungsoo weren’t tired enough to scream.

The absurdity of it all must be getting to him, though, because helplessly he smiles back at Chanyeol.

Sehun shatters the moment by kicking Chanyeol’s shin. “Shut up. I’m going to sleep.”

“Ow!” Chanyeol’s hand slips and they’re plunged into an earthy darkness. Not even shadows are silhouetted against the rocky walls. Kyungsoo rubs at his own face, sends a quick prayer to whoever might be listening up there — above ground, in the real world, where princes don’t laugh like _that_ — and then he curls into a fitful sleep.

 

 

 

Chanyeol wakes up in an utter panic. It’s dark and the muscles along his back are aching like he ran a marathon last night. When he sits up it all comes rushing back: the ballroom, the escape, the pearl necklace. Prince Kyungsoo.

Quietly he lights a flame in one hand and raises it to eye-level. He’s careful to keep his fist curled so it looks like he’s holding a lighter instead of a literal flame. This level of control is daunting, and Chanyeol expects to feel something — anything — when he conjures a singular flame into existence. He just feels empty.

There’s no reason to keep secrets from a soulmate. But Chanyeol still harbors a small and burrowing seed of doubt. He’ll show Kyungsoo his powers. Just not yet. There are things he’s not ready to share, things he’s ashamed of.

Sehun is still sprawled in the corner snoring, but the pile of fabric on the opposite wall stirs gently. A tuft of black hair shakes itself free. Kyungsoo’s head lifts from where he’d collapsed onto his sleeves.

Blinking gently, Kyungsoo sits up and regards the situation with about the same expression that Chanyeol now has. Total uncertainty.

Chanyeol clears his throat. “Good morning?”

“It’s probably late evening by now.” Kyungsoo scratches at his hair. It does nothing to tame the bedhead. “We should resurface and look for water.”

That’s when Chanyeol notices his own dry throat and rumbling stomach. Quickly he shakes Sehun awake and they rearrange themselves into something vaguely presentable. Chanyeol wishes he weren’t in disguise as a merchant — his proper clothing would be way more comfortable than this rough, plain cotton.

Kyungsoo stands with both palms up. In a swift motion he raises their air bubble up, up, through the rocks and dirt until they burst from underground with a popping noise.

Dying sunlight is enough to blind Chanyeol. He blinks until a village comes into focus. They’re surrounded by low thatched buildings, scattered pines, and a startled street of passerbys. Of course. They emerged into the middle of a bustling intersection.

Kyungsoo acts first. Grabbing Chanyeol by the wrist, he hurries into the crowd, weaving like the needle of a frantic compass. The people part with whispers and shouts of surprise. Chanyeol makes crazed eye contact with a huddle of children whose mouths gape open.

He’s shocked more by the state of the crowd than its size. The people of Ely are thin. Their clothes, dirty. They look nothing like those who attended the ball. It’s a sight he expects from his own kingdom, because Lux has felt the economic decline for years. But if Ely isn’t profiting from this war, who is?

They emerge from the crowd unscathed and run straight for the tree line.

“Wait!” A voice shouts. “Prince Kyungsoo!”

That makes Kyungsoo falter. He glances back at the mulling crowd and Chanyeol and Sehun do the same. Against the darkening sky, a young guy breaks from the group and jogs forward. He’s around their own age. His corduroys are smeared with dirt.

“It is you.” The guy smiles. “We heard you were kidnapped. Do you… do you need help?” He looks hesitantly up at Chanyeol. “We can protect you here.”

 _Kidnapped_? Chanyeol’s blood runs cold. The mutterings and shufflings of the crowd take on a new lens, and suddenly he notices how many of them are unsmiling and tense. He whips around to look at Kyungsoo, who’s just as shocked. “What?”

“This morning, Prince Baekhyun issued a missing persons report out for you.” The guy looks back at Chanyeol. “They say you were stolen from your bed by a battalion of Luxeans.”

An entire battalion! Chanyeol almost laughs out loud at that preposterous image — Junmyeon would never consider a suicide mission like that.

Kyungsoo looks severely annoyed. He drops Chanyeol’s wrist and turns to face the unsettled crowd. “Prince Baekhyun is only protecting me. The story is a cover-up for a classified diplomatic mission I’m undertaking with these two men.” He scrutinizes the crowd with confident shoulders and for the first time Chanyeol notices that he has the profile of a king. “There’s no need to be concerned.”

The man looks unconvinced. There’s a tight and sinister pinch to his face, and slowly he edges closer. “You wouldn’t mind staying the night here? So General Lee can gift you with supplies tomorrow morning?”

“I said no.”

“My prince, we’re only worried for your safety — “

Suddenly Sehun screams. Somehow a group of villagers had snuck up behind them as Kyungsoo spoke, and now there’s a muscular man grabbing Sehun’s arm and tugging him towards the crowd.

Chanyeol overreacts. He surges forward and shoves the guy off Sehun. Two women latch onto his arm, yelling, and suddenly it’s a fight. The villagers swarm forward to lay a hand on every bit of Chanyeol they can reach — a brawling, slapping mess of pain that he can only gasp and struggle through. Pain explodes against his head. The mob is like a river and he can’t fight the tide. Sehun disappears from his side and Chanyeol falls.

He’s only on the ground a second before someone is lifting him up by the shoulders. Kicks land on the back of his shins, but Chanyeol kicks back and regains his footing. He turns over one shoulder to see Kyungsoo clutching him and shouting. Well, he must be shouting _something_ , but there’s a ringing in Chanyeol’s ears so bad that he can barely hear himself when he shoves another attacker and says to Kyungsoo, “ _Get Sehun_.”

Then Chanyeol realizes he’s dizzy. He lurches forward, tipping into the arms of a feral-looking teenager who rips Chanyeol’s sleeves and draws blood from the skin beneath.

This is bad. Really bad. He rights himself, elbowing the teenager out of reach, and uses his height to plow through the angry mob. Their screaming is still muffled, and Chanyeol uses one arm to defend himself while the other tenderly touches one ear. He feels blood.

Kyungsoo resurfaces and leads Chanyeol through the melee. No one’s touching him —  no one dares to harm their prince — and following in his wake creates a tunnel of safety in which the people back up two to three steps. Chanyeol breathes. He can’t see Sehun.

They break free and Kyungsoo runs for the trees. Chanyeol tries to stop him, to pull back and look for Sehun, but he’s breathing too hard to get the words out and Kyungsoo has his hand in a tight grip. They run for hours, or so it seems. They run until the dark woods envelop them and a humid swamp rises from the earth. When Kyungsoo’s shoe squelches into a mudhole and he can’t immediately tug it out, he finally relinquishes Chanyeol’s hand and sits on a log.

“We have to go back.” Chanyeol says. The world’s a little muffled, but he can hear himself just fine. His cheek and jaw are cold where the blood dried. “We can’t leave Sehun there.”

“He’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo rips his shoe from the mud with both hands. Sweat collects at his collarbones where his shirt has come undone. The tip-top of his soulmark peeks out.

“I’m not leaving him with those people. They’ll rip him apart — “

“No, they won’t. They’ll take him to General Lee, and he’ll take him to Baekhyun, and Baekhyun will lock him in the same room you two were in before.”

Chanyeol sits beside him on the log and buries his face in his hands. “You think that’s any better?”

He’s failed. Sehun is alone, scared, probably injured, and stuck in a foreign kingdom filled with hardened warriors who would sooner kill him than take care of him if they ever knew his true identity. It’s bad enough they think he kidnapped the prince. What lengths will Baekhyun go to find out where they are?

If Baekhyun’s anything like Chanyeol himself, he’ll do anything to save his family. Every horrific image of Sehun, bloodied and bruised, flashes through his mind’s eye. He never should’ve let him come along. He should’ve left him at home with Junmyeon. This is all his fault.

The log shifts and Chanyeol belatedly realizes that Kyungsoo had left and returned. He looks up just in time to see Kyungsoo reaching for his hands and moving them away from his face.

“I can see that you really care about him,” he says gently, pressing something wet to Chanyeol’s cheek. It’s the handkerchief from his pocket, damp from the stream, and carefully he cleans the blood from Chanyeol’s skin. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Not if I can’t help him.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Kyungsoo holds Chanyeol’s chin with one hand to keep him steady, and it’s a ridiculously intimate position for two almost-strangers.

“I was kidnapped once,” Kyungsoo admits.

Chanyeol’s eyes snap to his face. They’re so close that he can count his soulmate’s eyelashes, but Kyungsoo doesn’t look away from where he’s working.

“It was crossing the border from Ordium to Arrendale,” he continues. “Sixteen men jumped our caravan and knocked me out. I woke up tied to a wooden chair and sat for three days waiting for someone to rescue me. I thought Baekhyun would come. Minseok couldn’t, obviously, but I thought Baekhyun would. He loves a fight.”

Kyungsoo wipes his thumb along the cut of Chanyeol’s jaw and leans back. “I was there for two weeks before they sent a special forces team to extract me. My entourage was mostly murdered, some in front of me, some not. I guess they didn’t think the situation would be that bad because the kidnappers weren’t asking for a high ransom. My life isn’t worth more than a thousand pounds of gold, apparently.”

He’s speaking so matter-of-factly, but Chanyeol’s swept up in the loneliness of the story. Imagining a younger Kyungsoo — brighter, more expressive — waiting hopelessly for the princes to save him… it’s horrible. Kyungsoo wears a neutral face most of the time, but there’s a subtle pinch now between his heavy brows. This must hurt to share. Chanyeol can understand that.

Chanyeol reaches up and covers Kyungsoo’s hand with his own. Their eyes meet as he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.” Kyungsoo looks away quickly, but there’s a pinkness to his face. “I’m saying, you’re not like that. Sehun trusts you. He knows you’ll come.”

“Which is why we have to go back — “

“After we stop the war.”

Chanyeol drops his hand. They shift apart, but Kyungsoo doesn’t look away. He’s particularly convincing this close up. Can Chanyeol really condemn Sehun to a week or longer at the hands of Baekhyun? He doesn’t really have a choice. Lives are at stake.

“After we stop the war,” Chanyeol agrees, “but I’m telling you, if anything happens to him, I won’t be able to stop the retaliating strike. And I won’t want to.”

That’s what makes Kyungsoo drop his gaze. He looks down at his own bloodied hands and agrees. “Fine.”

They drink from the stream and start walking again at midnight. Chanyeol’s never been this far south before and he marvels at how different everything feels. A frog chorus cheers them through the swamp, they’re guided by flashing lightning bugs, and it’s warm enough to strip to the waist even in the dead of night. Everything’s lovely.

Kyungsoo doesn’t bother stopping when Chanyeol pauses, for the fifth time, to try catching a lightning bug.

“At this rate,” he calls back, “I’ll die of old age before we make it to the border.”

Chanyeol jogs to catch up and accidentally splatters mud all over his pants. “Sorry. I want to show Junmyeon how beautiful this place is.”

“The Lowlands? It’s a swamp.”

“A beautiful swamp.”

Kyungsoo glances at him from the corner of his eye. He leans on his walking stick, a gnarled stump they pulled out of a sinkhole, and scrutinizes Chanyeol. He itches under the attention. “You don’t get out much, do you?” Kyungsoo asks.

“I do,” he argues. “I’ve been all over Lux. When I served in the military, I did some navigation.”

“But you’ve never left Lux.”

Chanyeol tries to argue. “Well — no. I’m here now, though.”

“Here.” Kyungsoo shakes his head and continues walking, but he’s smiling. “In this beautiful swamp.”

“I said what I said.” Chanyeol focuses on sludging through the mud. “Appreciate your kingdom’s natural resources, Kyungsoo.”

He slaps a mosquito away from his shoulders. Too late, the spot itches. It’s impossible to tell what time it is through the stifling gray light of the swamp’s fog, but it’s definitely brightened in the last hour or so. It should be daybreak soon.

Then Chanyeol notices he’s alone. “Kyungsoo?” He whips around. The fog extends in every direction. Between gnarled tree roots and hollows of mud, there’s no sign of his soulmate or where he went.

Chanyeol panics. He stalks forward, hair falling in his eyes, and scans the ground again. That’s when he sees it — several feet ahead, a twitching hand emerges from the mud. Kyungsoo’s fallen entirely into a sinkhole.

“Oh, _shit_.” Chanyeol twitches backward in surprise. What should he do? Kyungsoo could suffocate in minutes. But if he gets too close, he’ll fall in himself. Thinking fast, he leaps over a tree root and scales the bottom of the trunk. Stretching as high as he can reach, he touches a vine just within his grasp. Chanyeol rips down a lengthy piece.

Working quickly, he knots one end around the tree trunk and one end around his waist. He tugs. It stays firm and doesn’t snap. Chanyeol whips around to plunge headfirst into the sinkhole — and stops.

Kyungsoo stands, soaking wet, at the edge of the sinkhole. Totally unharmed. Water drips into his eyes as he points to the vine. “Were you about to jump in after me?”

All of the adrenaline leaves Chanyeol in one whooshing sigh. “Yeah. Of course, what — how did you get out?”

“Chanyeol, I can control the earth.”

Right. Chanyeol slumps back against the tree trunk. Duh. He unties himself from the vine and stomps down to stand in front of Kyungsoo. “Are you okay?”

The question, or maybe his sincerity, seems to take Kyungsoo by surprise. He slicks his hair back and Chanyeol tries not to stare. There’s something weirdly personal about seeing someone soaking wet. Especially someone like Kyungsoo, who hasn’t been a hair out of place in the entire two-day journey thus far. He looks smaller.

“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo says. His shoulders shudder a little.

“You’re shivering.”

He shakes out his hair and Chanyeol immediately misses the slicked-back look. Swamp water smatters against his shirt and he clears his throat so he won’t do something idiotic like smooth Kyungsoo’s hair down again.

“It’s warm, I’m fine.” Kyungsoo insists.

Chanyeol shrugs. “It’s not _that_ warm, but sure.”

“Let’s just keep moving.”

In that exact moment, Chanyeol’s stomach growls. They haven’t eaten since leaving the palace and it becomes painfully obvious when the sound grows and echoes over the swamp. Even the frogs fall silent in its aftermath. Embarrassed, Chanyeol presses down on his angry innards. “Can we find something edible first?”

Kyungsoo almost looks relieved. “Yeah.”

It takes longer than it should, both of them exhausted and Kyungsoo still shivering from time to time in his damp clothes, but they catch three fish. Chanyeol coaxes a tame fire along the tree roots. He can’t look at the fire too closely or the memories will overcome him. If Kyungsoo’s suspicious about the immobile nature of these flames, he doesn’t ask. They roast the fish and eat mostly in silence.

By the end of the meal, Kyungsoo’s lips are pale and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks sickly. Discreetly Chanyeol urges the fire on, hoping the extra heat will spur a change of color to his feverish skin.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Kyungsoo mumbles. “I’m not made of glass, Chanyeol.”

“Right now you’re mostly made of swamp water.”

He sniffles. “I’ll dry off when we start moving.”

The thing is, they’re in a great spot to camp for the night. Morning? Chanyeol has enough room to lay diagonally on the gigantic tree roots. It’s not comfortable, but it’s dry, and they’ve been walking for hours. He pats the trunk. “We should sleep here for a while.”

To his surprise, Kyungsoo immediately shakes his head. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“The tides rise too fast. We’d drown before we realized we were underwater.”

Chanyeol knows nothing about swamps, but even that sounds unrealistic. He dips the heel of his muddy boot in the water below. It’s three inches high at most. Would the water really rise so high as to reach their root perch?

He was really looking forward to recharging. “Damn.”

Kyungsoo cracks a smile. “Still think it’s a beautiful swamp?”

“Yes,” Chanyeol says, because he’s nothing if not a stubborn optimist.

So they walk again. Hours later, the trees thin out and the earth solidifies under their feet. Swamp gives way to sparse forest once more, this time dotted with hills and scarred rocks like mini cliffsides, and the tiny scurrying sounds of rodents replace frog croaks. The air cools. They’re out of the Lowlands.

About an hour ago, Kyungsoo started coughing. The first time it caught Chanyeol by surprise and he almost jumped out of his skin. Now it’s background noise to the buzz of exhaustion clouding around his skull. He feels like a skeleton walking. Kyungsoo can’t be much better off.

Finally he stops at the base of a hill with one stretch of exposed cliff. It provides just enough shelter from the breeze. Weeds dangle from crevices in the rock. Kyungsoo sits heavily against the stone, leaning his head back and swallowing hard. Chanyeol watches his throat move.

It’s almost a full moon, so he can see exactly how flushed Kyungsoo looks. There’s no denying it — he’s sick and trembling, drained by more than just the walking. But they have no provisions. Not even an extra shirt to wrap him in. Chanyeol sits gently beside him and feels his forehead.

“Don’t touch me,” Kyungsoo says clearly.

Chanyeol immediately moves back.

“I might be contagious,” he continues, “Lowlands fever can be caused by a bacteria.”

“Okay.” Chanyeol pats the soft grass. “Just sleep it off. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

Kyungsoo slides sideways until he’s horizontal enough. His eyes roll when they close and Chanyeol’s heart pounds. If he doesn’t wake up tomorrow, then what? Chanyeol can navigate to the border, but if anyone sees him with an unconscious, kidnapped prince, he’s dead. At least in a village there would be medicine for Kyungsoo. Maybe he should risk it.

But Chanyeol’s too tired to concoct more than a base plan before he too succumbs to sleep. He collapses next to Kyungsoo and, heedless of his warning, arranges their bodies so that Kyungsoo’s head is pillowed on his arm. He’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow.

 

 

 

Kyungsoo spends an approximate eternity burning from the inside out. He wakes up definitively several times, but he’s lying alone under a rock, so he goes back to sleep and hopes idly for some middle ground after death. Purgatory would be nice. Anything to get out of this heat.

But the next time he wakes up, he’s not under a rock. He’s on a patch of grass covered by a blanket and someone is feeding him cold soup. He blinks and the sunset comes into focus, illuminating the hillside in pinks and yellows, while Chanyeol spoons himself soup. Then he feeds some to Kyungsoo again. The spoon travels back and forth between them.

He swallows and his throat feels like a sandy pit from hell. “You’ll get sick,” he warns, but it comes out more like a croak.

“Hey.” Chanyeol sets the bowl aside. Where did even get soup? “How are you feeling?”

Kyungsoo sits up and coughs violently. He feels… like he’s been dropped into an active volcano. “Fine.”

“That’s what I thought. Eat some more soup.”

The spoon is at his mouth again and Kyungsoo reluctantly eats. He’s too disoriented to feel embarrassed. When did they move from the bottom of the cliffside? Where did the blanket and food come from? He takes the spoon from Chanyeol and starts feeding himself. It’s a cold broth, something a spinster would sell to the laborers, and it’s impossible that Chanyeol made it himself.

“Where did you get this?” Kyungsoo passes the spoon back.

“I bought it.”

“You have money?”

Chanyeol sips at the soup. Despite Kyungsoo’s earlier concerns, he looks totally healthy, and there’s a brightness to his eyes when he scans the hillside. He looks content. “I sold my leather bracelet.”

Sure enough, his wrist is exposed. The soulmark stands in sharp contrast to his pale skin. It’s still dazzling to see, and for a minute Kyungsoo is glad he can look as much as he wants. Then he’s humbled. Chanyeol threw away a piece of jewelry he’s worn his entire life just to get Kyungsoo a meal.

“You shouldn’t have,” he mumbles.

“That’s not the only thing I bought.” Chanyeol reaches behind him and retrieves a tiny metal case. “I mostly sold it to get medicine. The healer gave it to me on sale, too.” He smiles. “I think she was charmed.”

A lot of complicated emotions take flight in Kyungsoo’s chest. He recognizes the salve from his first trip to Ordium, years ago, when a member of his personal guard caught a stomach bug and Kyungsoo had to tend to him. It’s not a cheap herb. The healer was certainly generous.

He swallows. “Thank you.”

Chanyeol shrugs it off and passes back the spoon. “I can’t believe no one suspected me. My motto is _fake it ‘til you make it_ , but I’ve never had to rely on myself like that before.”

“I get that.” Kyungsoo wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “This is the first time I’ve left the castle without a security escort _ever._ ”

Smiling, Chanyeol nods along. “It’s freeing.”

They share soup until the spoon scrapes against the bottom. It’s the first time in who knows how long that Kyungsoo feels stable. He itches his chest and realizes the salve’s already been applied underneath his shirt. The top two buttons are undone.

That means Chanyeol must have touched his soulmark while he was asleep. It’s in the context of medical care, and it’s not even _that_ weird, but Kyungsoo still flushes red. He feels the heat in his ears and turns before Chanyeol notices.

“I’m going back to sleep,” he announces, “We can leave in the morning.”

“‘Kay,” Chanyeol says.

It feels like ten seconds later that the sun strikes him in the face. Kyungsoo is slow to wake and even slower to move. He’s bundled in the blanket, but he’s not freezing. Carefully he folds it and wakes Chanyeol with a hand to the shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, “It’s morning.”

“Not yet.” Chanyeol frowns. It’s cute. Kyungsoo bends closer and smacks him in the cheek. They need to get moving.

Ignoring Chanyeol’s indignant groaning, he unfolds the map and stares across the hills. It’s mid-morning and hard to tell exactly where they are. Far from the Lowlands, hopefully. Hills, cracked rocks, and grassy plains spread as far as he can see. It shouldn’t be longer than two days to the border.

Something occurs to Kyungsoo. He turns back to Chanyeol, who’s struggling to his feet, and asks, “How long was I asleep?”

“Two nights and two days.”

He drops the map. “ _What_?”

Chanyeol’s smile looks a little uncomfortable. He uses his fingers to comb his hair back. “Honestly, I didn’t know if you were gonna wake up.”

He almost died in the middle of nowhere with both his brothers believing he’s a traitor. It’s a morbid realization that forces Kyungsoo to reconsider his decisions. They’d lost time and perhaps the element of surprise. Would his own missing persons report have gotten back to the kingdom of Lux somehow? Wouldn’t King Junmyeon put the pieces together about his brothers running away at the exact same time?

But he and Chanyeol have come too far to turn back. Chanyeol himself seems to have no hesitations. He stretches briefly before jogging to the hilltop beside Kyungsoo. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

They embark on the final stretch of the journey. Conversation flows more easily now. Though Kyungsoo always thought he preferred silence while travelling, Chanyeol certainly livens up the day. They talk often of childhood, hobbies and dreams they once had, idealisms. Chanyeol bounces between thoughts like a bird in flight. So many of his mannerisms are actually reminiscent of Baekhyun — high energy, whip-smart, talented — but inverted. Always looking to the bright side, always laughing. His jokes are never mean-spirited.

Whatever Chanyeol’s personality is, it brings out a comfortable side to Kyungsoo that he’s surprised by. He’s had many travelling companions. Most are temporary, chosen by location or linguistic capability, and don’t connect with Kyungsoo past being polite. Obviously the soulmates thing makes this situation different, but it’s still unexpected that they speak so easily.

Maybe it should worry him that they’re bonding over running away from royal authority. Kyungsoo’s too focused on their real objective — the war — to be thinking of anything else. Including soulmates. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

Two night pass before anything changes. On the afternoon of the third day, they reach the peak of a particularly tall hill. Chanyeol’s humming a traditional Lux song, but he stops and falls silent when he sees what’s on the other side, arms falling slack with shock. Concerned, Kyungsoo jogs to catch up. They’re both out of breath.

“What.” Chanyeol points. “Is that?”

Spread out below the hill is an enormous military camp. Ramshackle tents cover the dry grass for miles in every direction, and groups of soldiers practice drills along empty stretches of dirt. Smoke rises from several large cookouts. At the edge of his vision, Kyungsoo can see an archery range.

“That’s Base K,” he says.

“Base K?”

“Our largest military encampment.”

Chanyeol turns to him with wide eyes. “There are more places like this?”

“Not really.” Kyungsoo shakes his head and starts picking his way downhill through the shrubbery. “Base K is the only major camp, but there are a few smaller ones along the border. I think.”

Chanyeol looks like he’s struggling to process everything. It’s a shock, surely, to see the innards of your enemy. There are a lot more soldiers than Kyungsoo expected. It might be hard to pass through undetected — but they don't have a choice. They need to stock up on food and water before crossing the border. He’s equal parts apprehensive and excited to finally see the kingdom of Lux.

“So what’s our plan?” Chanyeol squints at the camp. It grows closer and bigger with every step. “Run in, steal some food, run out?”

“I’m not _stealing_ from my own people.” Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “You go in, say you’re a vagabond invoking the rights of the hungry, and offer to sharpen their knives for an hour. Or something.”

He brightens. “I love sharpening knives.”

“Creepy, but okay.”

“What about you?”

There’s an enormous tree at the base of the hill, far enough from the camp not to be suspicious, but close enough to be near if there’s trouble. Kyungsoo points to it. “If anyone recognizes my face, we’re done for, so I’ll wait there. Just bring me back what you can.”

They compromise on a time limit of sundown. If Chanyeol’s not back by then… well, Kyungsoo doesn’t know what he’ll do, but he’ll do something. In the meantime he scavenges around the tree for edible plants. Doubtful there are any left, since Base K has been here since the start of the war a decade ago, but he can still try.

He becomes so absorbed in foraging that Kyungsoo almost doesn’t notice the sun sinking below the hills. It’s been hours and he’s collected a handful of mushrooms that might be edible. Or highly poisonous. He stands, stretching his sore back, and scans the edge of the camp. There’s no sight of Chanyeol. There’s no sight of a disturbance, either, so maybe he’s just taking his time.

Kyungsoo waits. The shadows lengthen and swell. It grows dark and he starts pacing around the tree. _Shit_ , he has to go in and find Chanyeol. It’s been too long.

Quickly he takes stock of himself. Ripped silken shirt, gentle sunburn on his chest and arms, dirt between his fingernails. From afar, he looks nothing like the youngest prince of Ely. In a weird way, he’s proud of himself for devoting everything to this mission, and he wishes Baekhyun could see his defiance.

At the same time, he doesn’t want to see Baekhyun, because that would mean capture at the hands of his own generals and that’s _humiliating_. The plan is to sneak in, get Chanyeol, sneak out. That’s all.

Kyungsoo arranges the stretched collar of his shirt to better conceal his chest and face. There’s not much he can do for the high-quality fabric, but hopefully the genuine layer of dirt will be enough of a disguise. He skirts between tents and stays in the shadows. Soldiers passing in duos or small groups are too busy chattering after the evening meal to notice him. It’s shockingly easy to tip-toe directly into the center of the camp. Crouching behind a particularly meager tent, he pretends to pick at his nails like a lonely wanderer and eavesdrops on the evening chatter.

Dozens pass without so much as a glance in his direction. There’s a close call once, with two young guys drunk on cheap spirits, but he sends a rock clattering to the Earth several feet away so they’re appropriately distracted. Passing topics range from deployment to tomatoes to hometown girlfriends. Kyungsoo’s feet start to ache. He’s getting _nothing_.

Just as he’s about to call it quits, reveal his identity, and demand to be directed to Chanyeol, there’s a hiss from inside the tent behind him. The canvas rustles. A voice whispers, “This is him.”

There’s another voice, just as unfamiliar. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure. I’ll never forget that face.”

A long pause. Kyungsoo leans back as far as he can to hear better. The first voice continues, “If we bring in the Phoenix, we’ll make lieutenant for sure.”

“Yeah, and if you’re wrong, General Zhou will castrate us both.”

“I’m not wrong. He burned off my fucking _hand_ , I remember what he looks like.”

There’s a long rustle of canvas. Kyungsoo holds his breath. The Phoenix is a legend, the only known citizen of Lux with powers, but he’s been missing in action for months. Presumed dead. Baekhyun’s letters always griped about how unpredictable and spontaneous his plans of attack were — like fire himself he would appear, ravage the scene, and burn out. Kyungsoo’s heard horror stories from the kitchen staff about their friends or family members returning home with desecrating scars. He’s a monster.

But he has a terrible dawning feeling that the soldiers aren’t just talking about the Phoenix. They’re talking about Chanyeol.

Every conversation they’ve ever had rewrites itself in Kyungsoo’s head. If Chanyeol is the Phoenix, it explains so much. Like why he offers to start their campfires every night, why he’s tight-lipped about his military service, why sometimes he looks absolutely wracked with a darkness — an emptiness — that Kyungsoo can’t understand.

If it’s true, his soulmate is a monster.

One of the soldiers in the tent laughs, breathless and borderline hysterical, and it’s enough to knock Kyungsoo out of his thoughts.

“Shit, maybe it is him,” the second voice says, “Didn’t he have red hair?”

“He dyed it, you fucking idiot.”

What sounds like a scuffle occupies the next ten seconds. Kyungsoo can’t take the suspense. He creeps around to the front of the tent, careful to keep his own shadow from falling across the fabric.

There’s a whispered argument about who will go fetch the director and who will stand watch over the Phoenix. He waits, concealed in the shadows, until a stout man emerges from the tent and sprints away through the forest of tents.

Kyungsoo doesn’t have a second to overthink his actions. He bursts through the tent flap and takes in the space, confirming his suspicions: a burly one-eyed soldier looms over an unconscious and gagged Chanyeol. There’s a strip of coarse fabric tied around his wrists, tight enough to leave furious red marks, and regardless of what he just heard, Kyungsoo’s mad.

The soldier turns around. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Your prince.” Kyungsoo punches him in the face.

The soldier topples over and pain implodes in Kyungsoo’s hand. Holy _shit_. He feels it instantly — he used too much force. That crack of bone breaking might’ve been the soldier’s skull, not his nose. Horrified, he shakes out his hand and kneels between their crumpled bodies. The soldier isn’t breathing, but Chanyeol is.

“Oh, god,” he gasps, shaking Chanyeol’s shoulder as gently as he can. “Get up, please get up.”

By some miracle, Chanyeol stirs, and Kyungsoo throws himself over the soldier feeling for a pulse. He has to be alive. Kyungsoo can’t have accidentally murdered his own soldier. His hands shake.

He’s breathing. Faintly, but at least he’s alive. Kyungsoo presses a brief hand to his forehead in apology. He turns back and helps a disoriented Chanyeol to stand.

“What,” he clutches his head, “the fuck?”

“Hurry, let’s go.”

With one arm around his waist, Kyungsoo allows Chanyeol to lean on him. They stumble out of the tent and into the darkness. There’s nothing left of the sunset and the grass has emptied of people. They’re alone, buffeted by the breeze, but Kyungsoo can’t immediately tell which way to go. Directions are meaningless in this disorderly hub of lives.

He picks a direction at random and speed-walks through the tents. Chanyeol blinks furiously and shakes his head like he’s dispelling flies. “They hit me over the head with a _cattle bone,_ ” he recalls with absolute indignation.

“Shhh.” Kyungsoo adjusts his arm to wrap tighter around Chanyeol’s waist.

A voice shouts from behind, “Hey! Stop! Stop them!”

They don’t stop. Instead they walk faster, breaking into a subtle jog. But the commotion has started. Canvas rustles. Half-asleep soldiers catapult from their cots, a disorganized response from an organized community, and soon enough they’re surrounded on all sides. Chanyeol shifts his weight to stand taller.

The original voice belongs to a thin-faced man who breaks from the line of adversaries and jabs a finger at them. “You are under arrest for the crime of treason for aiding an enemy of the state. The Phoenix is a prisoner of war. Turn around and surrender immediately.”

Slowly they turn to face him head-on and Kyungsoo’s heart sinks. He _knows_ this guy. Lee Jinki is high in the ranks, probably a direct assistant to General Zhou, and he’s had several personal meetings with Baekhyun before. No amount of dirt will conceal Kyungsoo’s identity from him.

As Kyungsoo meets his eyes, Jinki’s whole face falls slack with shock. He can feel Chanyeol tense under his arm. It falls completely silent apart from the unsettled fidgeting of the soldiers waiting for a command.

Kyungsoo’s mouth is dry, but he forces himself to speak. “I’m afraid you don’t have the authority to do that.”

“Prince Kyungsoo.” Jinki throws both hands out towards the soldiers. “Lower your weapons! Show some respect.”

He falls to his knees in a belated bow, overcompensating for his accusations, but the action only makes Kyungsoo sick. Jinki’s not wrong. He is committing treason. Technically, for the second time, except now there’s no legitimate way to defend himself. These people won’t see a prince helping his soulmate. They’ll see a prince betraying his country by saving a mass murderer.

A tiny, malicious part of him wants to leave Chanyeol to get what the Phoenix deserves.

But he can’t do that. He won’t. Lying is the only way. News will get back to Baekhyun and Minseok in no time at all, but it’s an urgent situation and there is no other choice.

“I’m sorry to disturb your night,” he begins. “The Phoenix is my personal prisoner. I’m on a clandestine mission to bring him in and he momentarily escaped me. Thank you for apprehending him — your contributions and cooperation will be noted.” He nods at Jinki in the most authoritative way he can. “I’ll let Baekhyun know that Base K is thriving. I’m sure he’ll be happy.”

Jinki’s completely baited. He beams and rises from his knees. “Oh, excellent. I’m so glad my people could help. Please, let us escort you back to the castle.”

Shit. Kyungsoo can’t exactly say they’re headed in the opposite direction. Thinking quickly, he conjures the same earthen handcuffs from the first night he met Chanyeol and wraps them viciously around his wrists again. Not expecting this violent motion, Chanyeol stumbles forward and lands hard on his knees. The crowd erupts into shocked whispers at the blatant display of power.

Now Kyungsoo definitely hates himself. He attempts a professional smile for Jinki. “That won’t be necessary.”

“If you’re sure…” Jinki hesitates, eyes on the stone cuffs. “According to the last report we received, you were declared missing and in need of help. You’re working for the military now?”

“A cover-up. Baekhyun and I are really working together, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Again Jinki seems to accept this. It’s like throwing out Baekhyun’s name is enough to smooth over any issue — the army trusts him. They love him. Kyungsoo has never seen it from this side before, only understanding Baekhyun from the perspective of the Red Room and its disconnected authority, but it’s so different in the field. He’s practically worshipped.

Jinki nods. “Jun, escort them through the premises immediately. Can we send you with any additional supplies? ...Clothes, perhaps?”

“No, thank you,” Kyungsoo says, until Chanyeol discreetly steps on his foot. Right. “Actually, some water and provisions, if you can spare them.”

“Of course!” Jinki waves his arms, orders around some men, and within minutes Kyungsoo’s carrying a large pouch of water and a smaller bag of dried meat and fruit. It smells amazing. Just a reminder that he hasn’t eaten yet.

As gently as he can, Kyungsoo tugs on the handcuffs to pull Chanyeol through the tents. People stare as they pass. The soldier named Jun, with dark hair and suspicious eyes, clears a pathway without trouble. Kyungsoo bids everyone goodbye and hopes they can’t tell how tense he is. It’s a cool night, but he can feel himself break into a sweat. They’re almost free.

“Don’t forget to tell Baekhyun about how well Base K has treated you!” Jinki calls, waving one curled hand in the air like a princess.

He doesn’t bother responding. Jun leads them to the base of a particularly grassy hill. On this side of camp, the plains open into a flat, windswept field. Walking directly through the field and swamps would take them back to the castle in about four days. It’s a depressing reminder of how little progress they’ve made.

Kyungsoo thanks Jun and sends him away. Without an ounce of hesitation he shatters the handcuffs around Chanyeol’s wrists. “I’m sorry.”

Chanyeol takes his time looking over his skin. He won’t meet Kyungsoo’s eyes. “Don’t be sorry.” He swallows. “You know I don’t deserve that.”

The truth feels too big to name, but he says it anyway. “You’re the Phoenix.”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol tilts his head back and looks into the starless sky. “If it matters, I _was_ going to tell you. Eventually.”

It’s pointless to question him. Kyungsoo still feels numb and unmoored, like he’s been spun a hundred different directions, and the constant blindsides are exhausting. He should be angry. He should be _scared_. But Chanyeol’s shoulders are slumped, his hands are uncertain, and his body language is so unthreatening that he unintentionally inspires empathy rather than blame.

Just like Baekhyun. Charming enough to deflect his faults. _That’s_ what’s annoying Kyungsoo, if he’s being honest, and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to superimpose the Phoenix over Chanyeol’s identity right now. He’s gotta trust what he’s been given: dedication, trust, gentleness. That’s what Chanyeol has shown him. Regardless of the Phoenix.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Kyungsoo rips open the bag of provisions and stuffs a handful of grapes into his mouth. “Let’s get out of range.”

Chanyeol finally looks at him, eyes wide. “Uh — okay.”

They fall into step together head the long way around Base K. Chanyeol has to walk fast to keep up. His hope is almost audible, and Kyungsoo tears into a hunk of dried venison to escape conversation. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

Chanyeol clears his throat. “Can I have some fruit? I never actually managed to eat before they… knocked me out with a cattle bone.”

“No.”

From his peripheral vision, Kyungsoo sees Chanyeol’s shoulders slump. “Okay.”

Wordlessly he holds out the dried meat and pretends not to notice Chanyeol’s face light up. Obviously the meat would have more nutrients than simply grapes. He’s still looking out for his soulmate. Even if they’re genuine enemies.

 

 

 

Selecting a point to cross the border takes time. Chanyeol’s working from memory with outdated information. Not to mention the map displays almost two dozen Ely checkpoints along the inactive zone.

Of course, they could waltz directly into the active battlefield. True fighting is limited to a valley bisecting their kingdoms, where village ruins act as a perfect post-apocalyptic ground zero. The names of those villages have already been lost to time. Chanyeol’s not even sure where the border was before the start of the war. No one has gained substantial ground in years — it’s an exhaustive push-and-pull with neither side suffering major loss or gain.

It would be easy to sneak onto the battlefield. The hard part would be getting out alive.

Dear, tiny, naive Kyungsoo wants to try exactly that. He glares at the map like it’s personally offending him. “It’s the most direct way to your troops, you said so yourself.”

“You want to walk straight into battle.” Chanyeol sits on the opposite rock and crosses his arms.

“Straight into Lux,” he corrects.

Chanyeol recalls something they talked about several windswept days ago, sometime after the swamp fever and before Base K. “Didn’t you say you hated making decisions as a kid? Where’s _that_ prince of Ely?”

“I also said I was stubborn.”

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” he scoffs, then grins. Kyungsoo smiles back. They’re joking. After days of shooting his shot, trying to make Kyungsoo laugh from his whole body instead of the amused chuff he’s got going on, they’re trading genuine smiles. It’s progress.

Chanyeol tries to bat the light atmosphere upwards, like keeping a balloon from touching the ground. He kicks a pebble into the nearest patch of grass. “But seriously, you have a warped perception of yourself.”

Kyungsoo’s eyebrows lift. “How so?”

“I didn’t know you as a kid, but you’re plenty princely now. You’ve talked us out of two tight situations.”

“I guess.” He fiddles with the crinkled edges of the map, then looks up at Chanyeol. “I didn’t know I could do that, actually.”

“But you grew up royal.” Chanyeol can’t imagine a situation where he would feel uncomfortable taking charge. It’s not preferable, honestly, but the council have pushed him into so many leadership roles that it’s almost ingrained to step up and take charge. Is that a good thing? He’s not sure. He adds, “Aren’t you accustomed to being in charge?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. He scratches at the hair falling over his eyebrows and smooths it down. “I don’t even live in the castle most of the time, let alone command anything in it. My powers manifested early. The staff were scared of me for a long time.”

“You’re telling me you _don’t_ live in the incredible, humongous castle back there.”

“Technically, I do. But like I said, I spend a lot of time traveling.” He smiles and effortlessly switches languages. “ _To learn about different cultures. I’m a diplomat_.”

“ _The exact opposite of a soldier,_ ” Chanyeol sighs. “ _I’ve always wanted to see the world. But the council only ever sent me to the battlefield._ ”

It’s quiet while that confession sinks in. Chanyeol feels more vulnerable speaking like this, in his mother’s tongue, in a language he exclusively uses with his family. With Sehun. Thinking of him hurts. What if he’s injured? Scared? It’s been days and any number of horrific things could’ve happened. Chanyeol has to close his eyes and focus hard on grounding himself in the moment, or else he’ll spiral into anxiety.

Abruptly Kyungsoo looks up from the map and his smile falls. “Hey,” he says, “what do you think the soulmark means?”

Chanyeol’s heart stops. Oh, they’re talking about that now? He shuffles one foot through the dirt and reflexively touches the skin of his wrist. “It means that we’re soulmates, right?”

“I mean, what do you think it _represents?_ ”

“Oh.” He settles back and looks at the faint black lines visible through Kyungsoo’s shirt. There’s a tiny rip along the button line where his skin peaks through. “I always thought it was a bird rising from a horned mask.”

A Phoenix, specifically, but he doesn’t say that. He wants to talk about his military service, to explain himself, but Kyungsoo doesn’t and he’s made that pretty clear. Chanyeol is pretending to be fine with their tentative impasse.

“I thought it was a volcano.”

Chanyeol bursts out laughing and Kyungsoo joins in. They’re giggling on a rock at the border of their warring kingdoms.

Then a gust of wind tugs the map from the Kyungsoo’s fingers. It shoots into the plains, getting caught in a mini tornado of dirt and dried grass. They both leap up and crash through the shrubbery after it. Damn, does he miss the marshes. If Chanyeol never sees another blade of grass again, it’ll be too soon.

He snags the map and they slow to a stop. They’re both breathing heavily. The slow and spreading warmth from earlier is gone, and Kyungsoo’s frowning.

“We should get moving,” he says. “Let’s just go into the valley.”

“I don’t think we should.”

“You said it yourself, it’s the most direct way.”

“It _was_ the most direct way. I haven’t been to the valley in months.”

“I know.” Kyungsoo grabs the map and stuffs it into his shirt, like that will keep them from finding an alternate route. “Baekhyun’s been counting the days waiting for the Phoenix to mysteriously return.”

Chanyeol cringes. “Can we talk about it now?”

“Fine.” Kyungsoo sets his gaze on the unfolding plains. His whole demeanor has changed: shoulders tight, expression impassive. He’s closed himself off. “I slept on it and I still don’t know what to say. My people call you a monster, Chanyeol.”

“Let me explain before we keep going.” He gently gestures to a haphazard pile of rocks. They’re excruciatingly exposed on the plains, but they’re as close as they dare to get to the border. An hour of bickering over where to infiltrate Lux has led them nowhere. Part of that blockage must be stemming from Chanyeol’s identity and he’s burning to talk about it. He wants Kyungsoo to understand him. Not for forgiveness, but acceptance. They can’t move forward otherwise.

Eagerly Chanyeol folds himself onto a rock. Kyungsoo sits beside him and leans back so that his feet don’t touch the dirt. In this afternoon sun, he glows, and a part of Chanyeol’s heart breaks all over again at the prospect of admitting his own sins. He’s always dreaded this conversation with his soulmate. Now it’s worse because Kyungsoo is _Kyungsoo_.

He clears his throat. His hands are sweating. “I’m the Phoenix.”

“I know.”

“Everything you’ve heard is probably true. I fought on the front lines. I had no control over my fire at the time, obviously, before I met you. I was just a weapon. I hurt people — a lot of people. I destroyed families.” He takes a deep breath. No matter how much his voice is breaking, he can’t cry. Kyungsoo deserves to hear this. “And I’m so sorry for what I did to your people. There’s no excuse. I didn’t want to fight, but I did, and I can’t change what happened.”

Kyungsoo’s staring blankly at his own shoes. “What do you mean, you didn’t want to fight?”

“I was drafted. The councilmen demanded that one of the princes serve. Obviously Junmyeon couldn’t, and Sehun was too young, so they sent me.” Chanyeol worries at a loose thread on his shirt. He watches Kyungsoo carefully. There’s something complicated happening on his face. A frown and furrowed eyebrows would indicate nothing but hostility if Chanyeol didn’t know better. But they’ve spent days in each other’s company. He’s starting to understand his soulmate and his expressively expressionless face. Kyungsoo is feeling some type of way.

“You didn’t have any control, though,” he responds, “So how did you fight?”

That’s a detail Chanyeol is particularly ashamed of. “I lit myself on fire first. That way my own soldiers knew to avoid me and, even if I couldn’t manifest anything in the heat of battle — literally — I’d still be dangerous. But most of the time I manifested _too much_ fire. Plenty of Luxean soldiers went home with burns, too.”

“Didn’t that make you a target?”

“Of course.” Chanyeol remembers his first time being thrust into the valley. Eighteen and more terrified of his own skin than enemy bullets. It’s a blur of smoke and screams now, something he nightmares about more than he wants to admit. The first and last times were the worst. “But usually the bullets melted before they hit me.”

 _Usually._ Not always. He touches the skin of his stomach, where phantom pain sometimes reminds him of that particular near-death experience. There’s a nasty scar he tries not to look at.

Kyungsoo, as observant as ever, watches his hand. “When you ran away,” he says carefully, “where did you go?”

“Home. Back to the castle. I didn’t care about desertion or being dishonored, I wanted to argue with the councilmen about ending the war. Or argue with Junmyeon. Anyone who would listen.” He leans back and sighs. Did running make him a coward, or brave enough to stand for his ideals? The breeze buffets his hair and he angrily tugs it back into place. It’s like the sky hears their heavy words and returns heavier clouds — a rogue storm is brewing on the horizon. No matter which entry point they choose, they’re walking into a monsoon.

Uninterested in the weather, Kyungsoo looks at their boots in the dirt and presses his thumb to his lips. It’s unclear whether or not he’s made the choice: forgive or condemn.

“I guess that argument didn’t go well,” he says. “And that’s how you ended up running away and breaking into my castle.”

“To be fair, I walked through the front gates.”

Kyungsoo rolls his shoulders back. It looks like he’s gearing up for the final question. Chanyeol’s heart quickens. There’s a distant rumble of thunder, but he can’t look away to check the status of the storm.

“But after months in the field,” he begins, then stops. “What made you leave? I don’t know about Lux, but desertion is equal to treason in Ely.”

“It’s the same for us.”

“Then you knew your life was in danger when you left.”

Chanyeol closes his eyes. He can’t bear to look this time. “Yeah,” he confesses. “I did it because there was a boy.” He has to swallow hard to continue. “There was a little boy in the valley, one of the drummers, who got pushed in front of me. He was young, really young, and I was already burning — he fell, and I couldn’t stop — There was so much fire.”

Kyungsoo’s response is immediate and unexpected. He falls into a kneel at Chanyeol’s side. “It wasn’t your fault.” He grips Chanyeol’s shoulder tight enough to be uncomfortable. “They used you. They exploited your abilities.”

“I know they did.” He blinks hard to keep the tears at bay. “But I still hurt that kid. I don’t even know if he survived.”

“Chanyeol, you’re trying to make it right. That’s what matters.” Kyungsoo widens his eyes in sincerity. He’s speaking with a comfortable urgency. No one’s ever listened to Chanyeol’s story like that before, and certainly no one has so easily accepted and understood it. There are no secrets between them now — he’s laid bare, hands shaking from the adrenaline of confession, and Kyungsoo hasn’t rejected him.

Chanyeol can’t help it. He lurches forward into a hug, slotting Kyungsoo between his knees and curling both arms around his smaller waist. Burying his head into Kyungsoo’s shoulder, he breathes deep and tries not to totally fucking lose it.

Then Kyungsoo’s arms come tightly around his back and Chanyeol feels the tension ebb slowly from his body. Together they sit, entangled and still, breathing deeply, until Chanyeol can smell nothing except the woodsy, earthy smell of Kyungsoo’s skin.

 

 

 

They compromise on infiltrating Lux through the very edge of the valley. It should be out of the away enough to avoid direct conflict. The faraway rain is growing closer and more earnest with every minute. Quickly they move over the grass and towards the red zone on the map. Here the terrain looks more familiar to Chanyeol — scorched black earth, the yellows of wilting grass, and haphazard metal littering the ground in dirty, geometric shards. It’s bringing the memories back stronger.

They skirt around the base of the final hill and traipse through sparse trees. It’s quiet, but the empty space doesn’t _feel_ empty, and Chanyeol’s on edge anticipating a jump-scare from lurking soldiers. Every whisper of thunder sends a chill up his spine. “I wish I’d brought my guitar.”

“Wartime tunes?”

“Oh my god, _no._ ”

Kyungsoo frowns. “Too soon, you’re right.”

The first childlike sprinkles of rain begin to fall. Kyungsoo screws up his face into wrinkles, glaring purposefully at the sky, and something about his exaggerated disagreeableness makes Chanyeol feel okay. There’s not a person in sight. They’ll get through this.

“It’s just so quiet,” he continues, even though the layers of rain add background ambience. “I hope the nightwatchers have cloaks.”

Kyungsoo bends to flick a wet leaf carcass from his boot. “I’m more concerned about _our_ lack of clothing.”

That should’ve occured to Chanyeol hours ago. He peers up at the cheerless sky and then back to Kyungsoo’s shoulders two steps ahead. The collar of his shirt is already wet. Chanyeol presses his palm against the back of Kyungsoo’s neck to gauge his temperature. Without even turning, Kyungsoo swats the hand away fierce enough to sting Chanyeol’s palm.

“Ow,” he mutters. “Let me know if you feel sick again. The fever could come back.”

“It won’t come back.”

Chanyeol speeds up and launches himself over a boulder with both feet — partly to show off, partly because the stillness of the rain is making him antsy. He lands with a bounce and turns back over one shoulder. “How do you know?”

“We’re out of medicine.” Kyungsoo shrugs. “So, I won’t let it come back.”

In that moment, the spiteful storm breaks.

Water comes gushing from the sky like they’re standing at the base of an enormous waterfall. A thump-thump of thunder nearly drowns out the sound of Chanyeol’s shout. “Let’s run!”

He reaches back for Kyungsoo’s hand and they sprint over the foothills, crashing through surging puddles and coughing on heavy air. It smells like ozone and ice. Chanyeol can barely see where they’re going, but it’s too dangerous to stop and wait out the rain. Whistling gusts nearly blow them face-first into a tumbling brick wall. Remnants of the once-city are appearing viciously in the gloom to tower and block their path.

Kyungsoo squeezes his hand and yells, “How much further?”

“I don’t know.” Chanyeol can’t see any landmarks around the towel of fog wrapping through the valley. “Maybe an hour? If we run?”

A spike of nearby lightning casts shining shadows on Kyungsoo’s face. They’re close enough that Chanyeol can feel his chest moving, breathless and solid beside him. An aftershock of crackling air precedes a tree crashing to the ground somewhere in the gloom. Splinters of wood pelt their thighs.

“We can’t run in this wind.” Kyungsoo points to the nearest dilapidated building, a glorified stone shack with half a roof just visible through the rain. “We have to stop.”

Chanyeol’s torn. He doesn’t want to spend a second longer in this valley. Reluctantly he grips Kyungsoo’s hand tighter and together they swoop into the collapsing doorway of the shack. A semi-dry concrete floor opens into a series of empty shelves, unrecognizable to Chanyeol as anyplace important, where a cot is shoved into the deepest corner. Kyungsoo effortlessly raises a wall of stone from the earth and creates a firmer shelter around the cot.

He and Kyungsoo collapse onto it without a second thought. They’re both shaking with cold. In the dim light, Chanyeol can see Kyungsoo’s shirt is soaked completely through, sticking to his tan skin and outlining the thick muscles along his back.

“What are you waiting for?” Kyungsoo gestures to his hands with gritted teeth. It breaks Chanyeol out of his momentary staring and he instantly claps his hands together. A warm wash of light and warmth extends from his palms. He cradles the fire in close so it won’t be tempted to lick fiercely at Kyungsoo’s skin. Like he’s tempted to do himself.

The atmosphere immediately changes. Chanyeol shakes his hair dry and tries to fuff his shirt, enjoying the bliss of thawing out, while Kyungsoo leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. It feels strange for them to enjoy the fire. No one has before. Certainly Chanyeol hasn’t. But now the little flames are reactive, swirling in his hands like dancers on a world stage. It’s almost... beautiful.

They sit side-by-side with legs dangling over the edge of the cot. Chanyeol coaxes the flames when a particularly demonic surge of wind cuts through. Then he starts singing to them — old folk songs, his mother’s style, the kind he likes to pluck on guitar for Sehun and Junmyeon. He hasn’t sung in years, not since his deployment, but the words tumble effortlessly over one another in quiet content while Kyungsoo dozes.

“ _I’d like a box for this waning childhood_ ,” he sings, “ _I’d like to take it by force or just take it to go. These leftover lovers, why can’t we go slow_?”

At first he’s too busy staring at the flames to notice Kyungsoo staring at him. Then Kyungsoo cuts in to continue the next verse. “ _I’d like to smell the night thundering by me, in bed with a large and improbable life to try. Go on alone, I think I’ll stay home and cry_.”

In his total surprise, Chanyeol accidentally feeds the flames and they splutter up his nose. He sneezes smoke. “You know that song?”

“I know a lot of traditional East Luxean songs.” Kyungsoo leans forward to remove his boots and avoid Chanyeol’s eyes. He left a wet imprint of his back on the wall, but he looks mostly dry already. “My language professor taught me. He was a refugee.”

“And you can _sing_. Holy shit.”

There’s definitely a flush to Kyungsoo’s cheeks now. “I like to sing.” He settles back against the wall with his legs curled beneath him like a cat. “It’s nothing special.”

“Don’t say that.” Chanyeol nudges their knees together. “Don’t discredit yourself, you’re talented. I wish _I_ could sing like that.”

Instead of arguing, Kyungsoo slides around to face Chanyeol. His hair is sticking up endearingly in the back, but his solemn eyes are still with sincerity. “Will you teach me guitar someday?”

“Of course.”

“In exchange, I can teach you…” He pauses. “Do you cook?”

Chanyeol imagines himself, on fire, in the palace kitchens. “Definitely not.”

Then Kyungsoo’s smiling and cupping his hands around Chanyeol’s for the warmth of the flame. “Great.” Even the exhaustion clear on his face can’t stop the hope from beaming through — so here they sit, two soulmates building a dream together out of smoke and music. “It’s a date.”

Naturally that’s when Chanyeol has to open his mouth and ruin the mood. “Do you think we would’ve been friends? You know. If we weren’t soulmates.”

Kyungsoo’s eyebrows twitch up but he doesn’t move his hands away. “Yes?” He looks over Chanyeol once, then more confidently, “Yes. I saved your life within five minutes of meeting you.”

“I saved your life within five _days_ of meeting you.”

Smiling again, Kyungsoo shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. Of course we’d be friends.”

“But the soulmark is the reason you initially trusted me. Without that, we never would’ve broken out of the castle. What if it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy? You only trusting me because of the soulmark, me only trusting you because of the soulmark?”

He wants to ask, _what if we only love each other because of the soulmark_? But they’re definitely not there yet, and Chanyeol knows to keep his doubts about soulmates quiet. It’s the basis of their society, there’s no room for questioning.

“So what?” Kyungsoo blinks down into fire and runs his thumbs over the backs of Chanyeol’s hands. The pinkness deepens on his cheeks. “I’ve made the decision to trust you a million times since the first night, and never because of the soulmark. I trust you because you’re _you._  This situation doesn’t define our relationship, and our relationship doesn’t define this situation.” He looks up. “I like you anyway, Chanyeol.”

The fluttering in his chest is reminiscent of their first night together, sitting in ruinous pearls. Suddenly he’s grateful for the military service for pushing him to defy Junmyeon and the council. It led him to a rival prince with a parallel heart.

Carefully Chanyeol slides the fire into one palm so he can smooth a stray curl away from Kyungsoo’s forehead. “I like you, too.”

They sit and stare at each other until Chanyeol can’t take the drumming of his heart and he leans in —

Faraway gunshots slam through the rain. They jump apart like criminals and Chanyeol snuffs out the flame so fast he has to blink a hundred times to adjust in the darkness.

“Was that…” Kyungsoo starts, then freezes when the sound reaches them again.

“Yeah.”

“Should we move?”

Chanyeol can’t think. The familiar noise has tossed him backwards in time and he can only see tatters of blue fabric burnt black, faces he’s tried to memorize and forget. He remembers trying to hold a gun like the generals ordered and only melting it between his fingers.

“Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo’s fingers find his shoulder and squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay. We can stay here. I’ll reinforce the wall. No one will find us.”

He swallows, but his throat is suddenly so dry it hurts. He can’t see Kyungsoo’s face but he grips his fingers back just as tight. “Why are they fighting in this storm?”

“I guess the combat never stops.”

Chanyeol’s about to argue — the fighting hasn’t been intense enough to warrant a fight in a storm like this — but another shower of gunshots cuts him off. There’s something seriously wrong. He wipes a chill from the back of his neck and reignites two fingers. Kyungsoo’s wide eyes meet his over flickering orange shadows.

It’s too reminiscent of the night he ran away. He makes up his mind in a split second. “I can’t stay here.” Chanyeol gets off the cot and starts tying his boots with one hand. “I have to see what’s happening.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Kyungsoo slides forward and grips the edge of the cot with white knuckles. “Fire can’t beat a maelstrom. You’re more likely to get shot than help anyone.”

Chanyeol tugs the laces tighter with an audible grunt. “Still gotta try.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“No. You’ve never seen active combat.”

Kyungsoo pulls on his boots anyway. It feels horrifically like deja vu — this exact conversation happened with Sehun only weeks ago, before they left Lux for the first time. Then he lost Sehun. Chanyeol can’t let himself make the same mistake again.

But he _knows_ Kyungsoo. He’s more stubborn than a diamond resistant to mining. If Chanyeol’s about to catapult himself into danger, his soulmate will be following two steps behind and telling dry jokes along the way. Chanyeol takes a deep breath and tries not to scream.

“Fine.” He grabs Kyungsoo’s hands where they fiddle with the bootlaces, stilling him. It sends a thrill down his spine when Kyungsoo obeys. “But don’t leave me.”

Kyungsoo holds his gaze. “I won’t.”

They arrange their thin clothes to cover as much of their skin as possible. Wind lashes against the reinforced walls. When Kyungsoo drops them, a surge of diagonal rain and dirt assuage them from all sides. It sounds like the whole world is howling. Any final words that Chanyeol wanted to say disappear and he just holds tightly to Kyungsoo’s hand. Together they walk towards the echoing gunshots.

In seconds Chanyeol’s totally disoriented. The base of the hill is nowhere in sight. Lake-like puddles fill every crevice and flood the ruins so that mobility is limited, and they spend aching minutes slipping through unsteady mud and climbing broken slabs of concrete.

The gunshots come again, this time closer. Kyungsoo points and they pick up the pace. Through the fog, movement emerges — trapezoid shapes flying through the dark. It could be anything. Chanyeol pulls them both down into crouches.

“There,” he says, but he’s sure the word is lost to the gale.

Kyungsoo squeezes his hand in understanding. As the rain lashes against their exposed faces, Chanyeol squints in the direction of the shapes and nearly jumps out of his skin when the next volley of bullets echo from directly in front of them. He throws himself over Kyungsoo’s body. They’re in the right place, at least.

The reality of the situation looks like it’s hitting Kyungsoo hard. He clings to Chanyeol, body language showing pure abject terror, but his face is impassive. His lips open and pucker into a sentence that Chanyeol can’t parse through the storm.

Chanyeol shakes his head and returns his attention to the fighting. A clearer shape darts across the field. It’s a lanky guy in a dark coat — definitely not the military uniforms of either kingdom, and that surprise is enough to throw Chanyeol off. Who’s stupid enough to be running around in this? Is that the reason for all the commotion?

The answer hits him just as a strike of lightning crashes into a nearby building, illuminating the valley and its horde of scurrying soldiers, where the odd guy out is sprinting across the dead grass perpendicular to where Chanyeol and Kyungsoo are crouched.

Chanyeol’s up and running faster than he ever has. He knows those shoulders, those gangly legs, those uneven paces.

“Sehun!” He screams, floating desperate arms above his head. “Sehun!”

His voice won’t carry. Led by a desperation stronger than fate, he follows in the general direction of Sehun’s escape and keeps shouting his name. Damn the soldiers. They can aim for him all they like. Better he than Sehun.

It’s not until someone shoves him to the left that Chanyeol remembers Kyungsoo. He whips back for a frozen, guilty second, but Kyungsoo’s still pushing with both hands on Chanyeol’s back. “Move! He went that way!”

Together they crash through the stinging rain and slapping wind until Chanyeol has eyes on the target again: Sehun, trembling, crouched under a rock in an unfamiliar black jacket. This time Chanyeol cups both hands around his mouth and with every inch of his lungs screams, “Sehun!”

Finally Sehun looks up. Even from this foggy distance Chanyeol can see his face change — mouth falling open in typical dumb surprise. He runs to meet them in the middle and Chanyeol barrels chest-first into him, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders. He’s crying. So is Sehun. Somehow they end up crouched in the mud, wind dying in huffs around them, clutching one another like the war isn’t happening meters away. Vaguely Chanyeol’s aware of Kyungsoo alert at his back.

“Are you okay?” He wipes mud from Sehun’s forehead where it tracks into his sleek hair. There’s a dark bruise on his collarbone and he looks exhausted, but otherwise unharmed. “How the fuck did you get here?”

“It’s a long story.” Sehun has the audacity to smile. “Can we get out of here? Like, right fucking now?”

“Yeah.” Chanyeol looks up and actually notices how far the storm’s receded — it’s alarmingly quiet now, only the pit-pat of a medium rain and scattered thunder. He turns to Sehun with new eyes. “Was this _you_?”

Sehun shrugs. “Not all of it. Most, probably.”

“The soldiers are coming,” Kyungsoo interrupts.

Blurry shapes coagulate through the fog. At least a dozen men are bearing down on top of them. Before Chanyeol can even think of a game plan, Sehun’s eyes catch on something in the fog. He breaks into a flatout run in the opposite directions from the soldiers, stealing the breeze and leaving no warning to his brother. He shouts something that Chanyeol can’t hear.

“Seriously?” Chanyeol mutters. Ten seconds after their reunion and Sehun’s already found something shinier. He reaches for Kyungsoo’s hand to follow —

But they’re too slow. He feels the air change before the shots are actually fired — and Chanyeol throws out his arms like he can cover everyone at once, like he can expand his heart to shield them both. Of course he can’t. The shots echo tentative over the valley and Sehun stumbles. From only steps away, Chanyeol watches him fall. Kyungsoo makes a punched-out noise low in his throat.

Chanyeol turns. Kyungsoo’s knees hit the mud hard and splatter it over his white shirt. Blood gushes from one leg. A muffled, screaming voice in Chanyeol’s head identifies that as a puncture of a major artery. “Oh, god.” He catches Kyungsoo by the arms when he lilts sideways. “No, no.”

Kyungsoo’s head lolls against his neck. Chanyeol can feel his quick and shallow breathing. “I can’t run,” Kyungsoo whispers. He sounds vaguely surprised. “You have to go after Sehun. It’s okay.”

Instead of answering, Chanyeol tries to lift him, but the shock slows his reaction time and makes it difficult to balance Kyungsoo’s small, stocky frame. The rain slows. They won’t be leaving this valley together.

“Go,” Kyungsoo insists, “Hurry.”

He exhales and his whole body shudders. “I won’t leave you.”

“They’re my people. They won’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.” Chanyeol glances up to see the soldiers rapidly approaching. He can begin to make out faces but not uniforms. “I can’t see the color of their uniforms, I don’t — “

“It doesn’t matter.” Kyungsoo pushes himself out of Chanyeol’s arms and, with what looks like final dredges of his strength, pulls them both into a standing position. His knees shake. “Your people are my people too.”

Chanyeol can’t help it. He looks back for Sehun and sees only a shadow crumpled on the dirt. So much happened in less than five seconds and he can’t process anything except that he’s still holding Kyungsoo’s hand, slippery from rain and blood. “But — “

Kyungsoo twists his wrist free. “Now, Chanyeol.”

Fine motor skills ebbing, Chanyeol releases him and steps back in an uncoordinated horror. He knows distantly that he’s about to do something horrible. “I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I’ll come back for you.”

Then he’s turning and running over the debris-speckled dirt. Wind surges around him, a visceral representation of Sehun’s fear, and it’s a miracle that his wobbly legs can take him the whole distance. Sehun is lying flat on his back. His chest rises with a wheezing noise.

Chanyeol collapses at his side and shakes rain from his face. “Where are you hit?”

“Shoulder.” Sehun screws up his face in pain.

“Roll over, c’mon. We have to move.” He arranges Sehun’s limp arms around his neck and feels for the wound along on his back. It’s impossible to tell which stickiness is blood and which is mud. Chanyeol can’t look back at Kyungsoo or the soldiers. _Fuck,_ why couldn’t it have been him? He can take a bullet. He can face warfare. Gently he helps Sehun to stand, to walk, to jog, while his eyes start to burn.

They continue in a straight beeline away from the soldiers, but Sehun jerks his head toward the edge of the valley. “That way.”

Chanyeol obeys without question. Together they stagger step by step until the dirt solidifies into sparse, waterlogged grass. He doesn’t know how far safety is. That overblown boulder? The adjacent scattering of trees?

He wipes gentle rain from his hairline. “Are you alone?”

“No.” Sehun points. “Over this hill, I think.”

Chanyeol doesn’t have the breath for further questions. He carries himself and most of Sehun’s weight over the first ridge, until a loose stone sends Sehun tumbling to the ground. He lands on one elbow and gasps.

“Shit, Sehun,” Chanyeol reaches for him. “Are you — “

“I’ve got him.” A man peels himself out of the rocks and catches Sehun’s other arm. Shiny hair flops over his forehead and Chanyeol’s immediately taken aback by the black-button Luxean cadet uniform accentuating smooth tan skin — this guy is a soldier. A young and handsome soldier, with exposed forearms and tight corduroys. No one Chanyeol’s ever seen before. The surprise makes him slow to help Sehun stand.

The guy takes one look at the blood and his face falls a hundred storeys. “What happened?”

“I tripped.” Sehun leans on them heavily, neck craned back with pain. “What do you fucking think?”

Chanyeol looks back and forth. Back and forth. Tries to stitch together the past week. He knows all of Sehun’s friends and none of them are currently serving. “Who’s this?”

“Chanyeol, Jongin. Jongin, this is the ugly brother.”

A noise of indignation escapes Chanyeol’s throat before he can stifle it. As the adrenaline fades, a terrible lightheadedness sweeps in. The rain has slowed and all is quiet in the valley. At least Sehun can’t be too injured if he’s making jokes. Chanyeol rubs his eyes hard and almost misses Jongin’s reaction.

“Your brother?” He stiffens like a slab of wood. “Oh my god. Sorry.” To the best of his limited mobility while supporting Sehun, he bows. A floppy fringe conceals his whole face. “Your Royal Highness Prince Chanyeol, it’s an honor to be acquainted.”

Chanyeol physically steps backward. “What the fuck?”

Unbelievably, Sehun laughs. It’s a low chuff that obviously causes pain, but he leans his forehead on Jongin’s neck and says with all the sincerity an asshole like him can muster, “Oh god, that was awful.”

One thing is for sure: Jongin isn’t Luxean. No one in their informal kingdom would treat him with such awe. Especially not with that outdated language. He feels like a painting pinned behind museum glass, and Jongin’s discomfort suddenly makes sense. That isn’t his cadet uniform after all.

“Who are you?” He repeats.

“I’m from Ely.” Jongin shivers miserably. Without the curtsying or worried bravado, Chanyeol can see exactly how young he is. Maybe younger than Sehun. “I’m a cook in the castle. Or, I was.”

“He’s probably been exiled by now.” Sehun extracts himself from their arms and sits carefully on a protruding rock. Chanyeol’s helpless hands flap over his shoulders. There isn’t much blood, a scrape if anything, but it’s still a gunshot wound. On his little brother. Sehun continues, “Jongin broke me out of the castle.”

Chanyeol crouches beside Sehun and starts ripping at his own shirt. The material disintegrates easily in his hands and he wraps its weak fibers around Sehun’s shoulder. It’s a rudimentary binding at best. He can’t tell if the blood drying on his palms is from Sehun or Kyungsoo.

He remembers Kyungsoo guessing that Sehun would be shipped immediately back to Baekhyun and locked in the castle. Looks like his prediction was right. Crouching now, lungs constricted by his own turned-in shoulders, Chanyeol buries his face in his hands. He left Kyungsoo behind. He left his soulmate behind.

How could he ever forgive himself? How could Kyungsoo?

Chanyeol breathes deep enough to suck the clouds into his chest. That’s certainly how he feels: raging, lashing, wild, like the storm has bottled itself inside his body. He’s angry at himself and angry at the sky for calming now, late in the aftermath of loss. He scrubs his own face with dirty hands and looks up. For everyone’s sake, he needs to pull it together.

“How did you get back to the castle?” He asks. “Tell me everything.”

It went like this: An escort marched Sehun back into the plushy dungeons of Ely’s castle and under Baekhyun’s watchful eye. Jongin was randomly assigned to bring Sehun his meals from the kitchens, and after their first meeting, when Sehun used his “sultry and inescapable charm” — his own description — Jongin agreed to sneak him out. Mostly in order to check on Kyungsoo, which was an admission that struck Chanyeol like a punch. Then they made for the border and infiltrated Lux’s own military camp, where they were separated stealing cadet uniforms. Sehun was on his way to their agreed-on meeting place when a border patrol spotted him.

“Our own soldiers,” he laments, massaging his injured shoulder. The blood has stopped. “Shot me! A prince!”

Chanyeol feels nauseated. “So the men chasing you were definitely from Lux?”

“Oh, yeah. I got close enough to see.”

That’s when Jongin starts putting the pieces together. He looks between the princes of Lux carefully. “So…” he hesitates, “you were traveling with Prince Kyungsoo.”

Chanyeol nods.

“Where is he?”

He swallows hard. “He was hit. They took him.”

It’s quiet except for the persistent mist. Faraway thunder whispers eastward and Chanyeol can’t look up from his own filthy, drying palms to gauge Jongin’s reaction. A kitchen boy came all this way out of love and loyalty to his prince — that’s unprecedented and genuine. Now Chanyeol’s crushed his hope.

He feels rather than sees Jongin sit beside him. “He’s your soulmate, right?”

Chanyeol’s throat closes. He nods again in fear that words will throw open the floodgates.

“Then he’ll forgive you.”

That’s enough to make him cover his face with both hands and crunch forward so that his imploding chest is pressed to his knees. He can’t breath. Even if Kyungsoo forgives him because they’re soulmates, it doesn’t erase his sins. It’s just another self-fulfilling prophecy. Forgiving each other because they’re soulmates and they’re stuck together in a fucked up power struggle doesn’t count. It’s forced.

Chanyeol gave up on wishing for normalcy years ago. He’s a prince who can set things on fire with one finger and that’s the only reality he knows. But sitting in the storm’s aftermath, shoulders shaking from sobbing into his knees, with his brother bleeding beside him, Chanyeol just wants everything to stop. He wants to be nobody. He wants to weave a necklace of jasmine flowers for Kyungsoo and fall asleep in the sun with everyone he knows happy and safe and clean.

That’s what war has taken from him.

  


 

 

The good news is they don’t shoot Kyungsoo on sight. The bad news is they tackle him into the mud headfirst and he definitely has a concussion now.

“Would you mind passing me some water?” He fidgets with the uncomfortable rope around his arms. “I think I’m dehydrated.”

The stone-faced soldier sitting at his side says nothing. They’re leaning against a tree while the lieutenant argues with a dozen other soldiers about prisoner of war protocol. Apparently allowing him to bleed out in the middle of the valley isn’t enough torture and they’re meant to bring him straight to the generals.

After a hundred cyclic arguments, Kyungsoo’s exhausted and in more pain than he can remember. He can’t move his leg. That might be the drying layers of mud or the gentle bloodflow. But he hangs his head forward and hopes that, at the very least, Chanyeol and Sehun made it to safety. They’ll come for him eventually. He’s sure of that.

“We don’t even know if he’s an enemy,” the soldier beside him speaks up. He’s younger than the other soldiers, around Kyungsoo’s age, with cropped dark hair and an angular face. He taps his fingers on his gun.

“Our citizens know better than to fuck around in the dead zone,” someone spits.

“If he’s a deserter, he gets the same treatment.” The lieutenant tightens his gun strap. He’s wearing an incredible amount of weaponry — two snipers laced across his back, a shotgun on each hip, and the imprint of a blade in his chest pocket. “You know what, I don’t care who he is. Take him before he bleeds out in my fucking valley.”

The young soldier hesitates. Evidently he’s in charge of Kyungsoo but disagrees with the consensus. A tiny spark of hope alights in his chest.

“Take him the fuck in, Kim.” The lieutenant stalks over to pull Kim up by the collar. He chokes and stumbles forward, almost dropping his gun, before the lieutenant carelessly shoves him on top of Kyungsoo. An elbow spears his gut. They land in an unflattering mess of dirt and limbs. Kyungsoo’s chest is crushed and dizziness sweeps in. He screws his eyes shut and tries not to scream at the wildfire ignited in his leg.

Kim scrambles himself up and looks at his feet. “Sorry.”

The lieutenant leaves without another glance, muttering obscenities, and leads the soldiers single-file into the bowels of the valley. Then Kim rolls his eyes. Maybe there’s still hope.

They march in silence for hours. Kyungsoo limps and wipes tears of pain and frustration from his cheeks. If Baekhyun could see him now, bloody and bruised and breathing like a marathoner, would that be enough to make him understand? Kyungsoo’s never hated anything more than he hates this war. And that lieutenant. Every passing moment is a temptation to bring the entire earth crashing up around his head like a tornado of rocks, but he resists. The lieutenant doesn’t know who he is yet. If they did, they might kill him on the spot.

When Kyungsoo slips on a particularly muddy slope, he goes down hard and blacks out for a long second. He finds himself numb and supported by Kim.

“Let’s go,” he says gruffly, without meeting Kyungsoo’s eyes.

Coughs wrack him. “Thank you.”

From then on they walk together to the Luxean army base. It emerges from the trees like a spiky, overturned bowl — a metallic structure much smaller than Base K and daunting in its innovation. As the sun crests the valley rim, shimmering light reflects off the silver metal in a hundred different colors. How didn’t they know about this in Ely? How could it stand, so ostentatious and beautiful, just hours outside the battle zone?

The awe must show on his mud-frozen face because Kim tightens his grip on Kyungsoo’s arm. “Pretty, right? Say hello to our taxes.”

Kyungsoo’s never paid taxes to this country in his life, but he’s not about to say that. He keeps his mouth shut as they march inside. Groggy soldiers in thick sweaters trickle through a network of doors inside the structure that leaves him disoriented. A few men spare him a curious glance. Ramshackle windows in each hallway try and fail to illuminate the cool metal walkways. The lieutenant sends each soldier off one by one into the steel maze, until only Kyungsoo, Kim, and the lieutenant himself turn into a large banquet hall.

Kyungsoo grew up in a castle. He knows grandeur. But this room is a monochronistic nightmare, a chaotic overlapping of stainless steel tiles boxed in with rows upon rows of two-tiered desks, stretching up to a black stage with diamond-studded crown molding. The stage is empty but for two small chairs and an even smaller table in the center. Two men, presumably generals, sit across from one another, bent over paperwork. One looks a full head shorter than Kyungsoo.

The lieutenant marches straight towards them. “Sir. We have a potential prisoner of war found running at oh-three-hundred hours. Request to interrogate, sir.”

One of the men looks idly over Kyungsoo. He feels a little objectified.

“Granted.” Short General returns to scribbling onto the paper. Discreetly Kyungsoo squints at the writing, but he can’t decipher it from across the stage. He’s supposed to be gathering intel to — what? Use as ammunition against Junmyeon when they finally meet? To better understand how to end the war with Lux once and for all? Those goals seem so far away. What he really wants is to rewind time and follow Chanyeol out of the valley, out of the war, out of both kingdoms entirely.

Then the general continues, “Actually, have the cadet do it.”

“Me?” Kim’s grip tightens on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Sir?”

“You.” Short General sighs. “We need more people to promote. Congratulations, interrogation experience is a resume builder.”

Kim looks as nauseated as Kyungsoo feels. “With all due respect — “

“He’ll do it.” The lieutenant salutes. “First thing in the afternoon. Thank you, sir.”

The lieutenant stalks down a dark hallway and they don’t follow. It’s a whirlwind of struggling steps and angry, throaty comments from Kim until Kyungsoo is set gingerly on the floor of an indoor cage. It’s circular and — no surprise here — reinforced with steel bars. He tests the earth under his feet, feeling for echoes of dirt and stone, and knows he could shatter this whole building in an instant. Even without Chanyeol nearby. That’s a comforting thought.

To his surprise, Kim sits beside him and holds out a hand. “Let me see your leg.”

“You’re going to treat me before the torture?”

Kim’s delicate eyebrows scrunch together. “Interrogation is _not_ torture. Maybe that’s how you do it in Ely, but not here.”

Carefully Kyungsoo slides his throbbing leg towards the soldier. “What makes you think I’m from Ely?”

“Please.” He snorts and starts ripping the fabric of Kyungsoo’s pant leg away at the thigh. It’s a grotesque intimacy, even with Kim’s gentle hands. “Lieutenant was right about that. None of our citizens would go near the valley.” He spares a quick glance toward Kyungsoo’s floppy, un-military hair. “But if you’re not a spy, why are you here? It’s a long ways from home.”

Kim procures a vial of clear liquid and dabs it softly on the wound. The mess around it — dried blood, splattered mud, torn skin — immediately rubs away. It burns so bad Kyungsoo has to shut his eyes. At this point, he’s so exhausted and oversensitive that he might cry not from the pain, but from the confusing tenderness with which he’s being treated.

“I’m just…” He searches for a lie and can’t drudge one up. “I wanted to help.”

“Who did you want to help?”

“You.”

Kim looks up from his leg in suspicion so Kyungsoo hurries to continue. “People like you.” He leans back on both arms, digging fingers into the floor to channel the pain when Kim swabs the skin with more antiseptic. “Soldiers. Draftees. The people who don’t want to fight anymore.”

“On which side?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head. “Both. Either. I don’t care.”

The thread of conversation drops away. Kim makes a sudden and violent movement that Kyungsoo doesn’t entirely see until his entire body seizes up. It feels like a drill straight to the femur. He can’t stop himself — he screams, pitching forward, hands ripping the steel tiling like tissues.

Then it’s over. Kim wraps a cloth around his leg and pats Kyungsoo’s arm. “All better.”

“Fuck,” is all he can manage.

“I got the bullet out.” Kim wipes his hands together smugly. When he smiles, he looks young and mischievous. “Might want to fix _that_ before anyone sees.”

Kyungsoo wipes sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand and inspects the damaged floor. It looks like the recent victim of a tiger mauling. Steel shouldn’t bend like that for any human. Guilty, he shifts his hand to cover the animalistic mess and looks up at Kim to gauge his reaction. “You need better security,” he quips, hoping the tremble in his wrist isn’t obvious.

Kim says nothing, only stepping outside the cage and locking it. “Don’t get any ideas.” He taps a long finger against his temple. “Even strong men bend to Luxean generals.”

What’s _that_ supposed to mean? Kim leaves him alone in a dungeon with no windows and Kyungsoo struggles to parse through his night. Has he learned anything useful? Are Chanyeol and Sehun okay? They must be — if they were brought into camp, he’d hear the commotion at least.

He tries to lay awake thinking of the shack where he and Chanyeol sang together, but the exhaustion overflows. The last thing he registers is a new guard moving to stand in front of the door. Then Kyungsoo’s gone.

 

 

 

When he wakes he’s flat on his back and aching from every muscle in his minuscule body. Kyungsoo drags himself through heavy air to sit upright and lean against the far wall. Dim light strikes shadows around the mess he made of the steel flooring last night — quickly he smooths that with one palm. Hopefully no one but Kim saw. Hopefully Kim doesn’t rat him out.

As if thinking of him called him forth, Kim himself appears in the doorway and jangles a set of keys. “Bad news. Interrogation time. Then the general wants to see you.”

Kyungsoo attempts using his tongue and discovers it dried to the top of his mouth. “What time is it?” He swallows. At this rate he’ll die of thirst before they decide how to torture him. “Can I have some water first?”

Obligingly Kim sticks a flask through the bars. Suddenly water is the only thing on Kyungsoo’s mind and he finishes it in one go — at least Kim is nicer than all of his previous kidnappers. Combined. He wipes his mouth and asks, “What’s your name?”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Kim grins and pockets the flask. He flicks the safety off his rifle and aims it at Kyungsoo before unlocking the door with one dexterous hand. “Oops, I’ve already seen yours.”

It takes Kyungsoo a second to catch up. He freezes on his feet. It’s true — he looks down and his destroyed shirt is flayed open at the collar, exposing his chest and the soulmark there. He’s so fucking stupid. It doesn’t matter that his identity is safe, they have the _ultimate_ leverage. Kyungsoo spares another desperate thought for Chanyeol before glaring at Kim. “Then I deserve your name. We’d be even.”

His venom obviously takes Kim by surprise. “It’s Jongdae.” He levels the gun at Kyungsoo’s chest. “Now get out here.”

The nap has replenished his energy, at least. He follows Jongdae through the winding steel maze. Although the gun is aimed at his head and he’s still limping, he doesn’t feel threatened. His escape is within reach at all times — directly below his feet. The steel’s no match for him. Passing soldiers stare openly as they walk. He tries to absorb as much information as he can, but only catches snatches of conversation. One soldier is being chewed out for losing his uniform, another for messing up drills. Useless.

Jongdae leads him to a narrow room with a table and two opposing chairs. Kyungsoo is handcuffed comfortably to the table.

“So is that what you want? A trade of information?” Jongdae slides into the opposite seat. “I told you my name, so it’s your turn.”

“I can’t tell you my name.”

“Person of interest, got it.” Jongdae ticks an invisible checklist and Kyungsoo grits his teeth. Usually his torturers started immediately with the bodily harm. That would almost be better.

Jongdae continues, “Famous or infamous? Let me guess, a big shot actor.”

“Wouldn’t you know my face if that were the case.”

He shrugs. “I don’t really have time for theater.”

Neither did Kyungsoo, though he had loved it as a child. He wants full mobility of his hands just to rub out the headache in his temples. “Who is the highest ranking general at this facility? I want to speak to them.”

Jongdae shakes his head. “Not before I get your name. Where are you from?”

“Ely,” he admits. “You already knew that.”

“Where in Ely?”

“El.”

At that Jongdae’s eyebrows wiggle. “The capital? So you’re famous _and_ rich.”

Kyungsoo sighs. “My turn. Who is the highest ranking general here?”

“Crown Prince Junmyeon is the highest ranking general in the Luxean army.” Jongdae’s voice dips into a scholarly monotone. He taps a steady rhythm with three lazy fingers.

How _infuriating_. This isn’t an interrogation, it’s a waste of time. Kyungsoo abruptly slams his handcuffs on the table, ignoring the sting in his wrists, just to make Jongdae jump. The soldier steadies his gun and reexamines the situation — hopefully it’s clear that Kyungsoo is tired of idiotic games. People are dying in that valley every day and he needs to stop it.

Heart racing, Kyungsoo stares down the barrel of the gun and grits his teeth. “Prince Junmyeon isn’t here. Stop feeding me useless information. You know what I’m capable of, you know where I’m from, and if you’re smart, you can put the pieces together.” He levels his gaze with Jongdae. “This is now a two-way discussion.”

Taken aback, Jongdae lowers the gun. His eyes flicker over Kyungsoo again — taking in the destroyed and muddy clothes, but below that, his impeccable skin and posture, marks of nobility if not outright royalty. Kyungsoo knows what he looks like, but he’s still lacking the natural power and charisma that his brothers ooze. In his previous kidnappings, he didn’t have the opportunity to outsmart or outnegotiate the men, because he was bound and gagged the entire time. This is different. His life isn’t the only one on the line anymore. He _needs_ be princely enough to convince Jongdae to listen.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Jongdae nods once in resolution. “If you tell me what I need to know, whatever. Let’s discuss.”

Satisfied, Kyungsoo leans back in his chair. That’s a start. Who knew Chanyeol was right? _Fake it ‘til you make it._ He laces his fingers together in pseudo-confidence, like the handcuffs aren’t there. “And what do you need to know, Jongdae?”

He starts counting on his fingers. “Your identity. Why you crossed the border in the middle of the night during a storm. What you’re planning to do in Lux. _And_ any known affiliates in Lux.”

Kyungsoo copies his counting style with immobile wrists. “I’m a citizen of Ely, I technically crossed the border by accident during the storm, and I’m only here to stop the war.”

At this point Jongdae actually does whip out a leather-bound journal and pen. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I had a plan and I met someone who could make it happen. Someone from Lux.”

Kyungsoo’s repeated his reasoning so many different times now that it’s easy to break into digestible sentences for Jongdae. He finds himself talking about Chanyeol, alluding to his experience in the draft without giving too much away, and missing his agreeable input. Once their misunderstandings were sorted, it was nice having someone who just _got_ it.

Only when he’s wrapped up does Jongdae speak. He taps pen to lips, pen to lips, and looks between the paper and Kyungsoo. “So you’re a pacifist.”

“In essence.”

“What about that famous part? You still haven’t told me your name. Or the name of your Luxean colleague.”

Kyungsoo rolls his shoulders back as if he’s in a spa and not an interrogation room. “Oh, by all means, you first.”

Unimpressed, Jongdae clicks the pen closed. There’s a sharpness about him when he moves around the table to perch on its edge. Close enough to lean down and speak inches from Kyungsoo’s face. “My story starts at sixteen. I was drafted the same day my brother’s medal of valor arrived in the post. He died on the frontlines and I replaced him within 24 hours.” He bites his lip again, a nervous tick that humanizes and equalizes all at once, but he looks wound tight. “I have nothing besides this job. My family were part of the first exodus into the mountains, my friends deserted or died, and this pension is the only reason I’m not drunk in a ditch right now. I need it. So it’s understatement to say that I disagree with you, buddy.”

Kyungsoo digests that. The soldiers he’s met up until this point are dutiful, respectful, reluctant… bored sometimes. He doesn’t know anyone with a genuine fervor for the war except Baekhyun. But Jongdae has nowhere to go outside of this valley. He may never leave it. A lack of opportunity prevents him from enjoying peace, not violent tendencies or prejudice. He just needs a paycheck and a reason to get up in the morning. That’s enough to dedicate his life to the armed forces.

He feels a great blooming of sympathy in his chest. “What did you do before you were drafted?”

Jongdae shrugs. “Took care of livestock, mostly. My family owned a farm.”

“If the war were over… would you like to do that again?”

“The war will never be over.” He slams the notebook shut. “Sorry to crush your dreams, but it’s too profitable.”

That’s the dumbest thing Kyungsoo’s heard so far. “To who? Tell me, who is benefitting from this war? A general or two?”

Jongdae snorts. “The royal families of both kingdoms. Oh, don’t look surprised — you knew that much, right? Money goes straight to the crown princes and those of us with boots on the ground never reap the benefits.”

“That’s not true.” He shakes his head. “Our taxes are published every year. There’s no way you built a facility like this without generous aid from the royal family.”

“I’ve never seen a royal tax return.” Jongdae shrugs. He runs a tense hand through his hair. “This is just what the generals say. They complain all the time, especially now the Phoenix is gone.”

Kyungsoo’s heart skips a beat. Of course, he should’ve asked about the Phoenix from the beginning. Chanyeol has nothing to do with his future negotiations with Junmyeon, but Kyungsoo can’t help it — he’s curious. He plays dumb. “Who’s the Phoenix?”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding. Did you live under an Ely rock?”

“I didn’t spend much time in the kingdom,” he snaps. “Just tell me about the Phoenix.”

It’s like pressing rewind and suddenly Jongdae is reluctant to speak. He carefully sets the gun on the table between them, out of Kyungsoo’s reach, and tilts his head back to sigh at the ceiling. His cheekbones are impressively sharp from that angle. It’s still surprising to be faced with a soldier his own age — for some reason Kyungsoo’s only dealt with those much younger or much older than he is. Jongdae is neither and he’s intimidating for it.

“The Phoenix was a Luxean prince in disguise,” he begins. “Even we didn’t know which one, since he dyed his hair. My guess is Prince Sehun. He had the ability to conjure fire from his skin, hence the callname, and for a long time, he was the generals’ best in show.”

Jongdae sighs. “But after a few months things changed. We never saw the Phoenix around camp. They kept him in the generals’ quarters and took him for walks at night like a circus freak. He usually wore a face mask and stayed quiet whenever he went out with the troops. Until he didn’t — and we started hearing arguments. Smoke and screaming from headquarters every night. Ugly, torturous screams.” He touches his own throat in memory or commiseration. “The fires were always unpredictable, but it got so bad that more of our men suffered than theirs. Then one night there was a bad lightning storm and he melted an entire wall. Broke out and ran away. The generals were in an uproar for weeks, but he never came back, and I never heard what happened. Crawled back to the castle, I guess.”

Jongdae shrugs and finishes with, “In the end, just another deserter.”

The scene is more vivid with Jongdae’s details — the screams, the lightning, the face mask. Kyungsoo already knew Chanyeol didn’t deserve blame for his actions as the Phoenix, and these images validate him. It’s hard to imagine upbeat Chanyeol subjugated into silence. Emotion rises thick in his throat.

“I see,” he mumbles.

It’s quiet while Jongdae allows that information to sit. Kyungsoo closes his eyes, forces Chanyeol from his mind, and thinks fast. Jongdae doesn’t know enough about the army’s hierarchical weaknesses to be useful, but he _is_ reasonable. Would it be worth it to reveal his own identity and ask for an audience with a ranking general? Preferably the short one from earlier.

He takes a deep breath. “I lied. My Luxean associate is the Phoenix.”

“You’re working for one of our princes?” Jongdae’s eyebrows jump up. His shoulders relax.

Kyungsoo licks his dry lips. “Not exactly. We’re working together. Of equal rank.”

The puzzle pieces audibly click together in Jongdae’s head. One of his hands twists into a fist on the table. “You’re a prince of Ely.”

“My name is Kyungsoo, and I’d like an audience with the highest-ranking general at this facility now.” He fakes a smile. “Please.”

To his surprise, Jongdae exhales and the tightness returns to his shoulders and neck — he rolls his eyes. “I really wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“Why?”

He lifts the gun and aims it, this time, at Kyungsoo’s heart. “Because our prince protocol is to shoot on sight. No exceptions.”

Well, he’s fucked. Heart hammering, Kyungsoo tries not to stiffen up in the chair. He won’t let Jongdae see his fear. “I just told you I was working with the Phoenix.”

“And where’s your proof?” Jongdae flicks the safety. His eyes are blank, so opposite the playfulness of earlier, like he flicked away his compassion just as easy. It’s clear that he’s killed before and takes no enjoyment from it. Nothing’s personal. It’s just a job.

“You’re looking right at it.” Kyungsoo slides the front of his shirt open to touch the soulmark. “The Phoenix was here for months, you must have seen his wristband.”

Jongdae is unaffected. “Never saw it. Sorry, Prince Kyungsoo.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m following orders.”

That’s when Kyungsoo shatters the handcuffs and ducks. Just in time, because a bullet lodges itself in the opposite wall. He doesn’t have time to take a breath before Jongdae is vaulting over the table and he has to destroy the steel flooring — again — to raise a wall of stone in defense. His movements are sluggish and pained. It becomes a blink-and-miss-it chase around the room, with Jongdae dodging every obstacle rising from the earth.

Kyungsoo explodes through the opposite wall, ripping steel apart like paper, and slams the opening closed behind him to trap Jongdae in the interrogation room. He turns, breathing heavily, to find himself in a semi-crowded hallway. Soldiers have frozen mid-speech to stare at his lightning appearance. A woman with a star on her jacket points. “Um, who the fuck are you?”

No time to answer. Jongdae bursts out of the doorway and yells, “Stop!”

Kyungsoo turns and runs. He’s guessing Jongdae won’t risk shooting in an enclosed space and he’s right, but now the eyes of every Luxean soldier are fixed on his head. Ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, he encloses himself in a moving wall of rock and mangled steel. It follows him like a solid cloud through the maze. He doesn’t even look. He barrels forward blindly and tries not to listen to the screams and pummels on the outside wall. An alarm goes off. Through cracks in the rocks, he sees flashing red lights.

For the first time since meeting Chanyeol, he feels the strain of controlling the earth. Kyungsoo punches through another wall, stumbling outside the steel facility, and for a moment the rock cloud wavers. Cracks pulse and expand.

Kyungsoo can see flashes of soldiers. A line of them, it looks like, are jogging forward into a line and aiming rifles. Men yell. In the chaos, he can’t think. Where should he go?

The idea comes to him right as someone crashes through the back of his shield and grabs his shirt collar. Kyungsoo drops the ground from beneath them and they both tumble, breathless bodies, into a void of earth. He lands softly on his stronger leg and reconstructs the dirt around them into a cave. This time he’s careful with strategic tunnels, allowing a dim light to fall over the space.

Kyungsoo turns and Jongdae is pointing a gun at him _again_.

“If you shoot me, you starve to death ten feet underground.” He crosses his arms. “Welcome to hell.”

Furiously Jongdae slams the gun on the ground. “ _Fuck_ you, man.”

A little high from the adrenaline and the success of his escape, Kyungsoo laughs. He feels reckless and indestructible. “You started this. We were having a nice conversation up there until you shot at me.”

“I’m just. Doing my job.” Jongdae grits his teeth and slams both hands on the wall in frustration. “You’re an enemy of the state. As soon as we’re out of here I have to kill you.”

“No, you don’t.” Kyungsoo stretches out his leg. It’s numb again, which is probably best for travel. Hopefully Chanyeol and Sehun don’t come looking for him at the base. He sighs and adds, “Because I was telling the truth. I’m working with your prince. He’ll pardon me as I have pardoned him.”

They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Kyungsoo opens the earth in each corner, hoping to hit an underground stream, and follows the trickles of water until a clear pond spreads across the cavern. He splashes his face and neck.

Nodding towards Jongdae’s empty flask, he adds, “You should fill that up. We’re not staying here.”

“Where will you go?”

Kyungsoo stands and rolls out his shoulders. “The castle.”

Resigned, Jongdae picks himself up and flicks on the safety. He pockets the gun. “To kill the king, I’m guessing.”

“I’m not trying to kill anyone. Crown Prince Junmyeon isn’t king yet anyway.”

Jongdae mutters something under his breath that sounds wonderfully like an insult. Now that Kyungsoo has the clear upper hand, he can appreciate the snarky kindness he’d received from Jongdae earlier, and plans to reciprocate for the duration of their journey. Quickly he checks the map still tucked tiny into his shirt and starts funneling dirt away eastward.

“Whatever,” Jongdae sighs. He frowns with delicate brows at the moving earth. “This is so fucking weird. I better get a promotion.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Not from _you_.”

Smirking, Kyungsoo leads the way into the darkness.

They walk for hours without a break. Every step is a contradiction of pain and success — he’s more driven than ever to negotiate with Junmyeon and reunite with Chanyeol, but the pain in his leg is almost unbearable. It’s a good thing it’s too dark to see, because tears sting silently down his cheeks. Kyungsoo keeps himself in check just enough to focus on navigation. Jongdae keeps silent and begrudging behind him.

When Kyungsoo’s entire leg below the thigh goes numb, he stops. Robotically Jongdae crashes into his back.

“Why are we stopping?”

“Because I have a gunshot wound.”

Jongdae yawns. “I’ll carry you.”

That’s not up for debate. Kyungsoo sits against the rock wall and says, “No.”

When Jongdae sits along the opposite wall, his pant leg rides up his ankle just enough for Kyungsoo to see a flash of black ink — a lightning bolt enveloped in a nine-pointed star. A beautiful soulmark. It reminds him of something he can’t pinpoint. Jongdae tugs the fabric back in place and glares like he’s daring Kyungsoo to speak. But they’re even now, naked to the soul and stuck together on this wearisome journey, and he doesn’t want to fight.

What Kyungsoo wants is to reflect on the past whirlwind 24 hours, but he’s asleep before his head even hits the dirt. In dreams he sits by the fireplace, whole and warm and quiet. In dreams he actually sleeps.

 

 

 

“So what are you gonna tell Junmyeon?” Sehun wipes sweat from his neck with a wet cloth. They’re bathing in a stream two hours out from the castle, and Chanyeol is no closer to finding peace with himself, let alone being prepared to defend his decisions to the crown prince.

He dunks his head underwater instead of answering. Cool, clear water floods his nose and he blows rhythmic bubbles to clear it. It’s been six days since they left the valley. Reaching the base had yielded no Kyungsoo. They only found the aftermath of his panic — a whole building destroyed from the inside out, a crater the size of a house in the earth — and it had scared Chanyeol. He moves both hands through heavy underwater hair, thinking about his own experiences traveling underground. It wasn’t fun.

The generals said a soldier followed Kyungsoo, someone named Kim Jongdae, whom Chanyeol doesn’t remember from service. He’s just hoping Kyungsoo isn’t stuck in that stale darkness with an armed and volatile stranger.

Either way, Chanyeol needs to hurry. Kyungsoo doesn’t require a rescue — that much is clear — but he does need backup, and Chanyeol knows he’s going straight for the castle. They _have_ to beat him inside. Now it’s a frustrating race to the prize: Junmyeon.

Chanyeol emerges to spit water at Sehun. “I’m gonna tell him everything.”

Sehun squeaks and tries to splash back but hits Jongin in the face. Any conversation is lost among the retaliant yelling and arm-flapping that follows. Taking a deep breath, Chanyeol enjoys the warmth of the day. A trout tickles his ankle and he nudges it back. Across the stream, a trickling waterfall pulses under a wave as the water is disturbed by a faraway beaver. Traveling like this is comforting. Chanyeol can imagine himself moving slowly through the forest, exploring its greenery and growth, for several weeks. If he had the option.

Naturally Sehun doesn’t share that appreciation. He’s been eager to reach home and now, apparently, is eager for gossip. As the splash-fight dwindles, he turns to Chanyeol and repeats, “No, seriously. We’re two hours from home. Have you thought about what you’re gonna say?”

“Junmyeon is reasonable.” Chanyeol shakes out his hair. “I’ll tell him the truth, and he’ll convince the council to surrender within the week.”

“What do you think Prince Minseok will demand?” Sehun turns to Jongin, eyes wide.

“I dunno.”

“Ugh, you’re useless. What’s the point of living in the castle if you’ve got no gossip?”

Jongin’s face twists. “I’m a _kitchen boy_ , not a personal assistant to the prince.”

He splashes Sehun right in the eyes, effectively reigniting the squabble. Chanyeol again turns his back to escape the crossfire. Ordinarily he’d join, but this is his last moment of meditation and peace before they descend upon his childhood home and all hell breaks loose. He needs quiet for a second.

The final two hours of travel pass in the blink of an eye. Dusk discovers the three of them waltzing up to the main gates just as they’re closing for the night.

Sehun lifts his uninjured arm. “Hey, wait! It’s us!”

The guardsmen don’t immediately respond. Chanyeol scans the scene, looking for anything out of place, any indication that Kyungsoo’s arrived first. He’s equally terrified of both outcomes. What if Kyungsoo succumbs to his injury and dies in the tunnels? Oh god, he hasn’t thought of that.

Then someone recognizes Sehun and a shout goes up. “The princes have returned! Alert the king!”

Chanyeol freezes. He and Sehun exchange glances. “The _king_?”

With dread pooling in his gut, Chanyeol leads the way into the courtyard. The night guards greet them with handshakes and claps on the back, but soon usher them through the foyer and straight to the throne room, where dinner plates are just touching the table. He hears Jongin’s stomach grumble. Chanyeol can’t look away from what he sees.

Junmyeon is sitting at the head of the table in the gold-backed chair reserved for the king. The chair which none of them have touched since their father died, ever. He looks up from his salad and the relief breaks over his face like something physical. “Oh, finally.”

Guilt and confusion crash around Chanyeol’s chest. He shifts his weight back on both heels. “What… happened? Did we miss your coronation?”

Junmyeon sweeps him and Sehun into a tight hug, wrapping an arm around each of their higher waists. The warmth is uncoordinated and lovely. “Yes,” he mumbles into Sehun’s chest. “I don’t care. I’m so glad you’re safe, I have so much to tell you.”

“So do we.” Sehun squeezes and steps away to fix his hair. “Well, Chanyeol does. Is it cool if I start eating?”

Junmyeon laughs, quiet and disbelieving. “Of course.” He focuses his full attention on Chanyeol. “Where have you been?”

It’s obvious that Kyungsoo hasn’t made it yet. That sets off another round of confusing emotions tangling in Chanyeol’s head — he can’t think fast enough. He still doesn’t know how best to explain the situation.

“Uh,” he stalls, “Have you met Jongin?”

Everyone’s attention turns to Jongin, except Sehun, who liquifies on a chair and starts gorging on fishcakes. Junmyeon inspects the newcomer and for the first time seems to notice the amount of dirt and ripped fabric they’re sporting. Like clockwork he slides into his royal persona and smiles wide. “Jongin? It’s a pleasure. I’m Junmyeon.”

Under the bright chandeliers, Jongin looks pale and sweaty. Not unusual. He swallows audibly and bends into a full ninety degree bow.

“Your Royal Highness King Junmyeon,” he mumbles, “it is my life’s honor to make your acquaintance.”

To his credit, Junmyeon’s face doesn’t change. He’s still smiling amicably when he turns to Chanyeol, but there’s a tiny crease on his forehead where it was smooth before. “Chanyeol.” He tilts his head. “Where is your friend from?”

“He’s _my_ friend,” Sehun interjects, spraying crumbs from his stuffed mouth. What a brat. “And he’s from Ely.”

“Oh? What brings you here?”

Now Junmyeon’s face is changing. The crease grows into a frown. Jongin looks fearfully between the king and Chanyeol. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Chanyeol intercedes on Jongin’s behalf. He waves his hands between them, pushing Junmyeon gently toward the full table. “I’ll tell you everything, let’s just eat first. We’ve been surviving off of berries and grass for a week.”

“I’ll have the kitchen staff start another round and alert the council members of your safe return.” Junmyeon takes the king’s seat. “Please, be seated.”

It’s strange to see him lounging there and making orders like a real leader — it’s a future Chanyeol always anticipated, but he finds himself still surprised. Missing the coronation probably has a lot to do with that. Junmyeon’s always had the aura and attitude of a king, but never the legal backing necessary for this kind of blossoming. He’s a little proud.

Chanyeol wants to dig in, but he knows if he doesn’t start talking now, he never will. He downs a glass of water and clears his throat. Sehun doesn’t even look up from his mashed potatoes, but Junmyeon and Jongin both nervously fiddle with their forks like they’re waiting for bad news.

“So,” he begins, “I found my soulmate.”

The whole story launches from his mouth at full speed. Chanyeol doesn’t breathe for fifteen minutes, he just talks, becoming so absorbed in the memories that he forgets his hunger, his exhaustion, his guilt, until he comes violently back into himself in the middle of an autopilot description of the destroyed military base. His hands are shaking. All three men are staring at him. Clearing his throat, Chanyeol tries to continue and feels a swelling in his throat like he’s going to cry.

He forces himself to finish. “So we walked back here from the base. The generals offered an escort, but I didn’t trust them around Jongin. We’ve been walking for — a while. Sehun needs medical attention as soon as he’s done being a pig.” He swallows. “And I need to talk to you.”

Junmyeon is expressionless. “Why?”

“Because it’s time to surrender.”

For the first time, he looks away from Chanyeol and down at his untouched food. It’s silent except for the clinking of utensils as Jongin and Sehun chip away at their meals. No matter how hungry he is, Chanyeol can’t bring himself to eat until he at least gauges Junmyeon’s reaction.

But Junmyeon only gives him a tiny smile. “We can discuss this later.”

“Soon. Before Kyungsoo arrives.”

The smile drops away. “Yes. You’ve all travelled far to get here.”

Chanyeol notices the hesitation. But he’s at least received acknowledgement from Junmyeon, so he picks up a fork and digs into the fish on his plate. It’s delectable, warm and bursting with salt and citrus, just the way he likes. Chanyeol allows himself the small peace of sinking thoughtlessly into this meal.

“So, king?” Sehun wiggles his eyebrows. “I thought the council was waiting for the tradition of your twenty-eighth birthday.”

Junmyeon sips wine. “They were. But the council… was not impressed by two princes disappearing in the middle of the night.”

“What?” Chanyeol sets down his fork.

“When they heard you were both gone, they demanded I take the throne in preparation for the worst.” Junmyeon smiles. The grim acceptance doesn’t reach his tired eyes, laced with wrinkles that Chanyeol hasn’t noticed before. “I told the council I assumed you were infiltrating Ely and they wrote you both off as a lost cause.”

That’s a surprise. Not that the council had ever cared about Chanyeol, let alone Sehun, but it certainly put Junmyeon in an awkward position. He was meant to have another two years of semi-freedom. Chanyeol reaches for him and squeezes his arm.

“I’m sorry, Junmyeon. If I had known...” He trails off. He can’t say he wouldn’t have left. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“It’s okay,” Sehun adds, “We know you’ll be a great king.”

This time Junmyeon’s smile is real. “Thank you. It hasn’t been an easy transition — “ He cuts off abruptly and Chanyeol hears the implied _without you._ How many different decisions can he feel guilty about before he implodes with self-loathing?

Junmyeon continues, “There were so many things the council hid from me. Especially about the war. I was too naive.”

“What about the war?”

“Not here.” Junmyeon shakes his head, glancing at Jongin, who keeps his head bent low over his broccoli.

Sehun catches that glance, too, and knocks elbows with Jongin in solidarity. “You can say anything in front of Jongin, it’s okay. I trust him with my life.”

 _That’s_ a strong statement. Even after traveling together with them in close quarters, Chanyeol’s surprised by their commitment to one another. Sometimes they giggled like kids at a festival and sometimes he heard them late at night in hushed whispers discussing the stars. Their easy banter and relaxed companionship made him jealous, at first, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he missed Kyungsoo or he felt some sort of weird possession over Sehun. Luckily he got over it.

Now it’s interesting to watch that confession wash over the table. Jongin stops chewing, a grain of rice stuck to his chin, and looks at Sehun completely flabbergasted. “Sehun, this is your home,” he says, looking between his friend and this foreign king, “Please, if I make you uncomfortable, I can leave.”

Junmyeon relaxes into his chair. “Not at all. I’ll trust your judgement, Sehun. Although it’s a little uncomfortable discussing the war with an Ely citizen.”

“Trust me.” Chanyeol shoves the last bite of fish into his mouth. “I get it. What was the council hiding about the war?”

He knows it’s serious because Junmyeon takes the time to dismiss the waitstaff. Only when they four are completely alone in the room does he explain, a pinch to his lips that Chanyeol can read as worry. “The council revealed the truth about our financial standing. We’re hanging by a very thin thread. Almost all of our produce is imported. Our only economic stimulator right now is the military.”

Chanyeol crosses his arms. “But we knew that already. We don’t have the manpower to bolster our agricultural sector, not when we need soldiers.” He’s done his research.

“Yes, but I didn’t know the extent of the situation.” Junmyeon adjusts the collar of his shirt. “Turns out the council has been drafting fake tax returns for the last six years. For us, for the generals, for all of our encampments. We’ve all been fooled.”

Sehun drops his fork. “ _What_?”

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough that we can’t end the war.” Junmyeon looks straight at Chanyeol. He’s earnest and apologetic, soft-spoken like he knows it will hurt. “Not yet. Not when we don’t have a backup plan nor the people’s support.”

It feels like a blow to the chest. Every step he’s taken in the past month, every decision he’s made… for nothing. He won’t be able to convince Junmyeon. Not if ending the war means a total economic crash. Dropping his head into his hands, Chanyeol tries not to scream at the dining table, even though having an emotional breakdown is the least he deserves right now.

He squishes his own face and together, takes a deep breath, and looks up. “Okay,” he says. “...Okay.”

Both of his brothers are looking at him with kindness and sympathy, but Chanyeol can’t meet their eyes. He’s failed. It’s not even Junmyeon’s fault, it’s Chanyeol’s, for thinking he had a chance. Of course their kingdom would collapse without the war. It’s all they’ve ever known — like another fucked up cycle, a self-fulfilling prophecy in which every step towards peace is actually a brick in the base of their militaristic state.

He imagines the look on Kyungsoo’s face when he arrives — if he arrives — and Chanyeol admits he’s failed. Again. Kyungsoo, who sacrificed so much to get here.

Suddenly he can’t sit in the dining room and continue a conversation. An unhappy lethargy hits him in the chest when he stands and awkwardly hovers at the table for a moment. “I…” He struggles to piece together an excuse. “Need to sleep in a real bed. Junmyeon, please tell the night guards to look out for a visitor, and get Sehun to a medic soon.” He runs a hand through his hair.

To his surprise, Jongin speaks up. “Thank you, Chanyeol.” He smiles timidly. “For everything.”

He doesn’t deserve to be thanked. He tries to smile back and high-tails it out of the room before Sehun or Junmyeon can make any similar comments. A staff member greets him at the door and Chanyeol sends him away as kindly as he can. Treading the hallways of this castle should feel comforting and familiar. Like a homecoming. But he moves in a daze to his bedroom and collapses into the sheets.

Selfishly, he hopes Kyungsoo doesn’t come. Chanyeol can’t bear to face his own shortcomings head on. He can’t even consider their next move — returning to Ely? Negotiating with Baekhyun like he meant to do all those weeks ago? Knowing now that Baekhyun is the most militarily involved, he probably won’t get far. Kyungsoo was his best option and their teamwork has only gotten them injured, separated, and set back.

In the end, it comes down to Junmyeon and Minseok. Neither are willing to stop the fighting, so they’re stuck. Chanyeol rolls over to bury his face in the pillow and scream.

 

 

 

Days pass without word of Kyungsoo’s arrival. Chanyeol doesn’t try to reintegrate into castle life. He sleeps late into the afternoon, wakes to help at the stables, and laments about the loss of his own horse so often that Sehun starts avoiding him. That’s okay, because Chanyeol is avoiding Junmyeon. Along with all members of the council. He actually ran from Mr. Seung last night, vaulting through a secret staff passage, rather than risk small talk in the corridor.

At night he wanders the staircases, sometimes staring through outer windows for hours at a time. He wants to be the first one to see Kyungsoo. As time passes, he’s less and less sure that Kyungsoo is coming. Maybe he succumbed to his injuries. Maybe the rogue soldier murdered him. Maybe he just gave up and turned around.

Either way, the swelling hopelessness manifests in Chanyeol’s life like a thick cloud cover. He cries when the sun wakes him, then sleepwalks through the entire day. He numbs himself until this half-life starts to feel oppressively real.

Then one night he watches a man materialize out of thin air. At first, he thinks he’s fallen asleep and started dreaming — he tugs at his own hair to feel tingles of pain. This is real. A man who didn’t exist just seconds ago is approaching the western gate. From this angle, he can’t discern whether or not the soldiers on duty have spotted him yet.

Chanyeol runs upstairs. He hasn’t moved this fast in days and he’s winded in seconds, but he pushes himself until he emerges, gasping, on the outer bailey. A dozing guard nearly jumps out of his skin. Chanyeol points to the figure still approaching, only meters away. “We have a guest. Open the gates.”

“Prince Chanyeol,” the guard splutters, hesitating, “Are you sure? Protocol decrees — “

“ _I am protocol._ ”

The guard gulps and salutes. “Got it.”

It’s too dark to see the man’s face, but the slightness of his shoulders is completely right — it must be Kyungsoo. Buoyant, Chanyeol flies down three flights of stairs and crashes through the hallways. Most of the castle is asleep, but he doesn’t care if they wake to his crashing footsteps. He bursts into the foyer just as the order is received. With a long creak, the western gate lowers. There’s a somber face waiting on the other side.

Chanyeol exhales all of his hope in one sigh. “Baekhyun?”

The visitor drops his hood. It’s definitely Baekhyun, sans delicate jewelry, unsmiling as his eyes flick around the modest foyer like a calculating mouse entering a lion’s den. His dark hair is ruffled in the back, as if he recently woke up, and he blinks through an impassive face that’s so reminiscent of Kyungsoo it hurts. He looks small in a trailing black cloak.

“Hi _Mr. Chester_.” He crosses both arms. “I’m here for Kyungsoo. Where is he?”

He can’t believe Baekhyun is standing in his foyer. Chanyeol dismisses the guards with a wave of his hand and they quickly shut the gate behind Baekhyun. “Kyungsoo’s not here,” he says, crossing the room to draw the curtains shut. It’s irrational, but he fears someone recognizing Baekhyun and attacking out of misunderstanding. This feels urgent and secret.

Baekhyun’s face immediately falls. He sighs. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_? What, did you lose him on the way here? I know he broke you out of our castle.” Baekhyun snaps. “It took a little longer to figure out you were a prince, but when the generals reported Kyungsoo leaving with the _Phoenix,_  I knew it had to be you. Tell me where to find him or I’ll destroy your whole fucking castle. “

Now that his poker face is shattered, Chanyeol can see the harried fidgeting of his hands, the red in his eyes, the strung-out appearance of his skin, like he’s spent a significant amount of time out of the sun.

They only met briefly before, but this Baekhyun is nothing like what Chanyeol remembers. Even as he wants to recoil from those harsh words, he forces himself to think in Baekhyun’s shoes: his brother, with whom he has a difficult relationship, is missing. He’s desperate enough to venture into the heart of his enemy to retrieve him. It’s an act of love that he knows Kyungsoo wouldn’t expect.

Seeing him touches something in Chanyeol’s chest, reminds him of Kyungsoo’s stoic warmth and easy laughter.

He takes a deep breath and says softly, “We were separated. I thought by now he’d turn back to Ely.”

“He didn’t come back.” Baekhyun raises his chin. “Where did you last see him?”

“How did you get here?”

Baekhyun won’t be deterred. “I rode a horse, then walked. Where. Did you last. See him?”

Time has passed, but it’s no less painful to imagine those moments. Chanyeol beckons Baekhyun into the foyer. “I’ll tell you everything. Let’s just get somewhere private.”

There’s a pause. He doesn’t think twice before turning and setting off. Chanyeol doesn’t look back to check that Baekhyun is following, but soon enough there are boot-taps on the tile. He cuts through a staff passage for a shortcut and, just outside his gold-gilded door, Baekhyun blurts out, “You better not be making a move on me.”

“ _What?_ ” Chanyeol wheels around.

Baekhyun glances between him and the door to his quarters.

Chanyeol laughs. “Oh, dude, no. Not at all.”

He can’t tell if that nose-wrinkle is from relief or disgust. Recalling the more formal speech patterns in Ely, Chanyeol can’t help but be amused. It must’ve been something he said. He unlocks the door and ushers Baekhyun inside, careful to double-check the hallway. Luckily, it’s past midnight and almost everyone is asleep. Chanyeol’s drowsiness has evaporated like dew under the force of Baekhyun’s presence. He feels a stirring liveliness in his chest. For the first time in days, he takes in a genuine breath.

They sit in opposite chairs. Baekhyun is stiff and keeps glancing at the unmade bed. Chanyeol immediately shucks off his shoes and starts explaining. This is the second time he’s rehashed everything, but by the end of the story he’s feeling more grounded than before — maybe talking over traumatic events brings catharsis. That was certainly true for his time in the military. He keeps his eyes carefully away from Baekhyun’s face, not interested in his judgement.

Chanyeol finishes, “...by the time Sehun and I got to the base to rescue him, he’d broken out and started travelling underground with a Luxean soldier.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Two weeks.”

The reaction is immediate. Baekhyun’s hands come down to grip the arms of the chair. He leans forward, eyes alight. “You haven’t been looking for him? He’s alone, injured, and stuck with an enemy soldier. One of _your_ kind, and shouldn’t you know better than anyone what your military is capable of?”

“How am I supposed to search?” Chanyeol throws up his arms. “He’s _underground_. If you have an answer, let me fucking know. Otherwise don’t criticise.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. His eyes catch on Chanyeol’s exposed wrist, the exposed soulmark. “I’m here looking for him. If my soulmate were in that position — “ He cuts off, choking on his own words, before bulldozing onward, “I would never stop searching.”

Chanyeol blinks. A small part of him agrees with Baekhyun and blames himself for being sedentary, but a larger part is suspended in disbelief. Does Baekhyun understand how hypocritical he is?

He can’t help himself. He blurts out, “Kyungsoo doesn’t think you love him.”

It’s quiet. Then, a whisper. “I know.”

Baekhyun takes a deep breath before continuing. He drops his gaze to the floor. “That’s… why I’m here. We argued before he left. He called me on so much bullshit and I didn’t listen. Then King Junmyeon was coronated and the generals freaked out. I didn’t know how — “

As if remembering present company, he shuts his mouth so fast teeth click together. Baekhyun rubs his face with both hands. Chanyeol can plainly see how much Baekhyun is suffering, and despite their earlier harsh words, he still feels empathy for him. They’re the same. Two princes caught in an unwilling war.

“Did you come here alone?” Chanyeol asks suddenly.  

Baekhyun nods without looking up. “It was a clandestine mission.”

“You could’ve sent a letter.”

“It would’ve been screened by your military.” Baekhyun leans back and cracks his neck. “This was the smartest move.”

Again Chanyeol can see the similarities between them — he made the exact same choice not too long ago. “Endangering yourself by traveling alone through an unfamiliar and hostile kingdom?” He snorts. “Yeah, been there. Not a smart move.”

Baekhyun frowns. “It worked out for you.”

He’s shaking his head before Baekhyun even finishes. Nothing about this situation is working for Chanyeol. He found and lost his soulmate, failed to put an end to the suffering of his people, and actually caused injury to two people he cares about.

“No, it didn’t.” Chanyeol bites his lip. “I have nothing I want.”

Evidently Baekhyun has nothing to say to that, because he rubs his neck and keeps quiet. They stew in thought for a while before Chanyeol gets up and crosses the room. He rings the staff for tea and snacks. If they’re going to have deep discussions this late, they need fuel.

Especially Baekhyun, who looks paler by the minute. He finally breaks the silence. “Well, do you at least have your brother back?”

“Sehun?” Chanyeol smiles for the first time that night. “Yeah. He’s fine.”

“Jongin helped him escape.” Baekhyun raises his eyebrows. “Right?”

Oh, shit. He can’t rat Jongin out like this, especially not when Jongin is planning to return to Ely just two days from now. Of course Junmyeon had granted him diplomatic immunity and asked him to stay, but Jongin quietly insisted that he return home to his job. How could Chanyeol explain Sehun’s return without admitting he had help?

He blinks and arranges his face into a definition of innocence. “Jongin who?”

Baekhyun laughs, quiet and breathy. “Oh, my god. You’re shit at lying. I can’t believe you fooled us for a second last time.”

“Hey.” He jabs a finger at Baekhyun. “I am an _excellent_ charmer. I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.”

They’re smiling at each other, strained but genuine, until a gentle knock interrupts them. Chanyeol fetches the tea and toast, thanks the staff, and returns to their seating arrangement. He pours a cup for Baekhyun and passes him the entire plate of toast.

“Thanks.” Baekhyun accepts the tea. “I have to say, it’s weird sitting here and not trying to kill you.”

Chanyeol viciously remembers feeling the same way in the Ely castle. He remembers making the decision to attack right as Kyungsoo placed a guiding hand on his arm — a fateful move that probably spoke volumes about their soulmate connection or something. Thinking back makes him smile now. It’s even more surprising that Baekhyun knows he’s the Phoenix and still hasn’t tried to kill him.

“Don’t worry, I get it.”

“Even knowing you’re — “ Baekhyun flaps his hand towards Chanyeol’s general face. “Kyungsoo’s soulmate. I can’t shake the feeling that I should be stealing military secrets or something. Our people are at war and we’re sitting here _drinking tea_.”

This is his opportunity. Chanyeol sets down his mug and leans forward. “Exactly. Why are we at war? We don’t have to be at war.” He moves to the edge of his chair so their knees almost touch. “We can end this. That’s what Kyungsoo and I are trying to do.”

Baekhyun is quiet for a long time. He stirs his tea and looks around the room. Chanyeol can’t read his face well, but he can guess what Baekhyun is feeling: uncertainty, stress, loneliness. It’s a difficult decision to give up everything you’ve known — in Baekhyun’s case, his life’s work. But his hesitance is giving Chanyeol hope.

Biting his bottom lip, Baekhyun inhales like he’s about to speak.

Before he can, the door bursts open and Junmyeon thunders in. Chest heaving, he looks like he just rolled out of bed and ran barefoot in a thick, silky blue robe. The guards must’ve woken him. Junmyeon zeroes in on the enemy prince with angry brows.

“What’s going on here?”

Chanyeol jumps up so fast he spills hot tea all over the carpet. “Wait, I can explain.”

“No need.” Baekhyun carefully sets his tea aside and stands to face Junmyeon. Any openness he had with Chanyeol is gone, and his eyes narrow critically as he approaches the king. “I’m just paying a visit.”

“An unannounced visit,” Junmyeon says, pointing to the door, “that has reached its expiration. I think it’s best if you leave. Now.”

“Not without my brother. Chanyeol _lost_ him.”

At that Chanyeol wants to protest, because Kyungsoo is not a toddler or dog who can be lost, but the raw masculine energy rolling off two posturing royals is enough to keep him distant. Things are tenuous. Gently he raises his hands and says, “We were just talking. It’s okay, I’ll help look — “

Junmyeon shakes his head without breaking eye contact with Baekhyun. “No, Chanyeol. He needs to leave and you’re not going with him.”

“I won’t leave yet.” Baekhyun’s hands slowly come up from his waist. “I came all this way for Kyungsoo and I’m not leaving your kingdom without him.”

“Fine.” Junmyeon smiles cruelly. “Have it your way.”

The tension breaks. Chanyeol feels the air pressure change just in time to duck. Junmyeon unleashes a torrent of water right as Baekhyun’s hands are engulfed in a flash of light. The two elements crash together in the middle, sparking off into ice and ash, like a firework with tragic aim.

Blinking spots out of his eyes, Chanyeol stumbles backwards. His arms sting where the water slapped across it, leaving red welts. It happens so fast he can’t react — suddenly they’re attacking in earnest,  throwing inconsistent jumbles of power at one another until cracks appear in the walls. Water surges up from the floorboards to hit Chanyeol’s knee. Multiple flashing strobe lights disorient him.

The water is practically at Baekhyun’s waist when he blinks and abruptly becomes invisible.

“Stop!” Chanyeol throws out his arms. “Both of you, stop.”

It’s too late. Baekhyun is gone. Bewildered, Chanyeol and Junmyeon both whip around, checking all corners of the room, and Chanyeol in his horror can’t compute the wet and ruinous state of his bed. Both windows are shattered and freezing air rushes inward.

“Where did he go?” Junmyeon kicks out aggressively, sending a spray of water over the armchairs.

Then Chanyeol spots it: a ripple moving across the room. No more than a whisper. Before he can think about it he points and Junmyeon is attacking again — but still his aim is horrific and he ends up raising the water level in the room by another foot. Now it’s up to Chanyeol’s thigh.

The ripple-that-is-Baekhyun ricochets water just fine, so he must be solid, but another series of blinding flashes push Chanyeol backwards and closer to the window so that he can’t see the fight. What can he do? Neither of them have control, because neither of them have met their soulmate, and Chanyeol’s fire is useless against water and light. He won’t unnecessarily use his power. Not when _this_ is the result.

Choking on a wave, it’s all Chanyeol can do to cover his eyes and try not to drown. He doesn’t know how long the fight drags on. The light sputters inconsistently against his eyelids. His foot slips backwards and he wobbles, one hand blindly reaching for the corner dresser, but he misses and goes down hard.

The water is freezing. It momentarily stuns him. Chanyeol takes a moment underwater to reorient himself, and when he opens his eyes, the world is astonishing and beautiful: blue flashes of light, like shooting stars, cross in every direction. It’s quiet except for the muffled yelling and the bubbles spouting from Chanyeol’s nose — he can almost relax like this. Pushing himself back to the surface, Chanyeol doesn’t feel the tug of the tide until it’s too late.

He’s sucked violently to the side. Panicking, Chanyeol pushes again for the surface and breaks it, gasping, only to find himself at the window ledge with both legs being sucked into the waterfall emptying into the castle grounds. Flailing, Chanyeol manages to grab the side of the window, lodging broken glass directly into his palms. He thinks he’s screaming but he can’t actually _think_ around the pain and panic — he just dangles, both feet hanging in the waterfall, above a forty-foot drop.

Water sprays continuously into his face, but Chanyeol hears it when someone screams. He feels it when the water pressure decreases and a hand latches onto his wrist.

“I’ve got you,” Baekhyun yells. “Let go!”

Heart in his throat, Chanyeol can’t let go — his fingers won’t unclench. At least the pain in his hands is keeping him alive. Baekhyun tugs on his wrist, though, until Chanyeol obeys. He tosses his life into Baekhyun’s hands and waits for fate to deliver him. He lets go.

The roaring water ebbs into a trickle. Chanyeol is pulled to safety by Baekhyun’s own hands and they collapse in the draining bedroom lake, wrung out and coughing, with Chanyeol’s head pillowed dizzily on Baekhyun’s shoulder. Holy _shit,_  he almost died. His eyes flutter shut and he focuses on breathing.

Gentle hands touch his cheeks and he assumes it’s Junmyeon. “I’m fine,” he mumbles. “Baekhyun saved me.”

“I saw that,” a familiar voice says, and Chanyeol’s eyes fly open —

Kyungsoo is crouching in the water and holding his face. Kyungsoo, in the same tattered white shirt from weeks ago, is smiling brilliantly down at him with teary eyes and a tender touch. Immediately Chanyeol lurches forward. The intent is to pull Kyungsoo into his arms, but he kinda just flops like a noodle into Kyungsoo’s chest. Kyungsoo catches him and holds him like something precious. The rest of the world tapers off.

This might be an indication he’s dead. Chanyeol could be in the afterlife right now. He touches Kyungsoo’s eyebrow, which raises under his scrutiny.

“You’re really here?”

“Yeah.” A hand comes up to stroke Chanyeol’s hair. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Are you okay?” Chanyeol’s hand flies toward Kyungsoo’s thigh where it juts out of the water. There’s a tight bandage underneath his pants and for a second he fears the worst. Was the wound infected?

Kyungsoo shakes his head and holds Chanyeol’s hand on his thigh. “I’m fine. I got lost underground.”

The irony is unbelievable. Chanyeol laughs a little, hugging Kyungsoo tight and helping him to stand, and Kyungsoo smiles that sunshine-smile. Breathless, Chanyeol asks, “Why didn’t you just come above ground? How did you get here?”

“When we came to the surface, we’d overshot the castle by miles. I knew we were getting close tonight, but — “ He glances toward Baekhyun, who stands dripping behind them with a pleased smile, “Then we followed the light.”

Chanyeol wants to ask, _You’re not mad at me?_  He wants to bundle Kyungsoo into a giant bed of goose feather blankets and feed him pink pastries for a whole day, to take care of him, to absolve his own guilt, to repair the blooming _something_ between them. The could-be-love.

But Kyungsoo’s attention has shifted to Baekhyun. He slips away from Chanyeol with a final squeeze of his hand and plods through the ankle-high waters. The outcropping of rock he must’ve used to scale the side of the castle juts into the room only inches behind Baekhyun. The two brothers stand, uncertain, eyeing each other’s scrapes.

“Why are you here?” Kyungsoo asks.

“Looking for you.”

“Why were you fighting?”

Baekhyun chews on his bottom lip. He looks away and then back at Kyungsoo, taking a deep breath. His shoulders relax. “Because King Junmyeon ordered that I leave the castle, and I refused to go without you.”

If Kyungsoo looked teary-eyed before, it’s nothing compared to now. His eyes are wet and shiny when he embraces Baekhyun, tucking them together quickly. Based on the flabbergasted look on Baekhyun’s face when he hugs back, they aren’t affectionate often.

Kyungsoo mumbles, “Thank you.”

Chanyeol leans down to rinse his bloodied hands and remembers Junmyeon in the corner. He’s been a silent observer so far and Chanyeol can immediately see he’s shell-shocked and likely blaming himself for the waterfall incident. Angry burns run up his arms from where the light hit him directly. He’s leaning against the wall, worn out, and won’t meet Chanyeol’s eyes. That’s unacceptable. Chanyeol crosses the room and squeezes his brothers’ shoulders, encouraging him with a smile.

“Junmyeon,” he says, “this is my soulmate, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo turns and gives a solemn wave.

Junmyeon’s throat bobs. “It’s wonderful to meet you.” He moves away from the wall and straightens his shoulders. “Now, I have to ask you both please to leave.”

“What?” Chanyeol whips around. “Why? Can’t you just stop fighting — “

“Look at how much trouble they’ve caused in half an hour. You almost died because Baekhyun and I had a disagreement.”

Baekhyun snorts. “More than a disagreement, but _okay_ — “

Kyungsoo smacks him in the shoulder while Chanyeol continues to press Junmyeon. He can’t believe this. “After everything that’s happened, can’t you see? It’s time for a peace treaty. _Now_ , not later. The four of us are here together for a reason.”

The room falls silent and Chanyeol realizes he’s started shouting. Chest heaving, desperate to change Junmyeon’s mind, he steps back and rubs wet hands over his face. Baekhyun just literally saved his life. Baekhyun, the true war monger, the only prince who’s ever enjoyed the battle, just set aside his personal beliefs to assist a prince of Lux.

Isn’t that enough?

Junmyeon looks crushed. He sinks against the wall until he’s sitting in the last few inches of water. He drops his head into his hands, a rare show of exhaustion, and mutters, “I won’t let our people starve, Chanyeol. Please understand me.”

To his complete surprise, Kyungsoo gently pushes him out of the way and kneels in front of Junmyeon. “I know someone who might be able to help.”

Who...? Only then does Chanyeol remember. He gasps. “You were traveling with a soldier, weren’t you?”

Kyungsoo nods and returns to the shattered, dripping windows. Blood stains the sill in multiple places. He peeks out and there’s immediately an answering shout from the grounds below.

“Oh, did you remember I’m still down here?”

Kyungsoo beams. “Sorry, Jongdae.” He lifts two fingers and there’s another scream, this time of fright. “Come on up.”

A platform of earth rises to the window. A young guy in a military uniform, probably around Chanyeol’s age, jumps into the room with a splash and surveys the scene. He has a sharp face and even sharper eyes. Even when he looks at Junmyeon and Chanyeol — his king and prince, respectively — he doesn’t seem very impressed.

When no one speaks he clears his throat. “Uh, hi. I’m Jongdae.”

“Jongdae didn’t kill me when I brought him aboveground,” Kyungsoo says proudly.

“Still doesn’t make us friends,” he mumbles, and Chanyeol has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Oh how the tables have turned. Kyungsoo’s face is impassive, like he didn’t hear it, but Chanyeol knows he did.

Kyungsoo turns back to Junmyeon. “Jongdae used to be a farmer. He told me all about his family’s business, and how they brought life from nothing year after year in your soils. It was hard, but most of the Luxean army have experience with agriculture. He’s willing to take a modified military salary to return to farming and cut Lux’s heavy import rate.”

“And I’m not the only one.” Jongdae shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. He rocks back on his heels with a funny little smile. “The lower wage is shit, but I know a lot of guys who would be happy to return to Mama’s farm for nothing. If we’re gonna be poor might as well be at home.”  

A thick and golden hope rises in Chanyeol’s throat. The whiplash emotions of the past hour are taking their toll and he feels weak in the knees. It’s quiet except for the gentle dripping of water from the walls and muffled confusion from faraway guards. Junmyeon is staring at Jongdae in utter fascination. There’s hope in his face, too, that Chanyeol can read plain as day.

Could all of their problems be solved by a foot soldier? Is that what they should’ve done all along? Leadership isn’t about struggling through decisions alone. But Chanyeol went straight to their enemies for negotiations, when maybe he should’ve started closer to home. The thought of discussing peace with his fellow soldiers never even crossed his mind.

Junmyeon smooths down the front of his robe thoughtfully. “I didn’t know the soldiers felt that way. There may be arrangements available.” He doesn’t look away from Jongdae. “If the people are willing. It would have to be a grassroots movement.”

“But with secret support from the king, it could work,” Chanyeol interjects, “Right?”

“Maybe,” Junmyeon says, but he’s not frowning, so that counts as a win.

Baekhyun licks his lips and goes right for the jugular. “Are you planning to… surrender?”

“Negotiate,” Junmyeon and Kyungsoo correct him at the same time. They exchange a surprised glance and Jongdae snorts.

Junmyeon continues, “We’ll consider negotiations. Your crown prince and I would need to meet on neutral ground.”

This is it. They’re making it work. This is more progress than Chanyeol could’ve hoped for. When he meets Kyungsoo’s eyes across the room, he knows they’re both thinking the same thing. The last of the tension seeps out of the room and everyone stands, a little awkwardly in their haphazard circle. They’ve got a strange group — three princes, a king, and a lowborn soldier — but the priority for peace takes precedence over prejudice. They’re bound together by duty now.

It’s also the middle of the night. Kyungsoo sways on his feet a little and Baekhyun reaches for him, but Chanyeol crosses the room first. He tucks Kyungsoo into his side, ignoring the stares, and says, “Preparations can be made quickly. Maybe we can move this to somewhere more comfortable?”

Junmyeon’s face collapses with guilt. “Yes. Of course. Chanyeol, I’m so sorry for destroying your bedroom.”

Four walls and a bed aren’t really a big deal, so Chanyeol waves him off. Kyungsoo gratefully squeezes his waist and laughs when Jongdae turns up his nose at the water-stained soggy carpet.

“Yeah.” Jongdae removes his shoe and shakes out a quart of water. “This place is a dump. Do all princes live like this?”

He removes his shoe quick enough to tug down one sock. Chanyeol immediately sees half of a soulmark on his ankle, a spiking star-like mass, and averts his eyes. He knows from experience the soldiers aren’t careful with their marks, but he’s always felt impolite looking. To his surprise, Kyungsoo picks up the conversation and drags attention away from Jongdae’s slip.

”Not all princes.” He glances up at Chanyeol. “I prefer the outdoors.”

“Me too.” Chanyeol nods.

Junmyeon sighs and brings them back on track. “Okay, let’s reconvene in the sitting room. I’ll have the staff prepare hot meals.”

“Finally.” Jongdae straightens up, shoes dry, and points at Kyungsoo. “ _This_ is what I kept you alive for. Free food.”

He’s the first to brush fearlessly past them and into the hallway. Chanyeol leads everyone else out, shaking water from his bare feet, and turns to see Kyungsoo break into a huge yawn. A group of guardsmen, all on the younger side, have remained just outside the door, and one leaps at Chanyeol in excitement.

“Prince Chanyeol, are you alright? We saw the water and flashes of light, but the king ordered us to stay put — “

Chanyeol cuts him off and assures that all parties are fine, they’ve just had a few unexpected guests. He can feel Kyungsoo’s smile against his shoulder. Junmyeon takes over from there, calling out kind orders and leading their waterlogged and exhausted party down the hall.

He realizes they’re too tired to have a productive meeting. Even Jongdae, boggled by the size of the hallway chandelier, is rubbing at his eyes. From the back Chanyeol pipes up, “Maybe we should continue this conversation in the morning. We could all use a good sleep to think things over.”

Baekhyun looks a little uncertain, but Kyungsoo nods immediately. “That would be amazing.”

It doesn’t take long for room assignments to be sorted out. They have plenty of extra space, but in the spirit of security, they decide to sequester themselves in one wing and double up rooms. Jongdae is placed with Chanyeol, while Kyungsoo and Baekhyun are together. It’s logical — the brothers are still reuniting — but Chanyeol’s disappointed.

He’s still in a silk pajama shirt and pants, so he tosses himself on the bed without complaint. Baekhyun’s arrival was only two hours ago, but so much has changed in that time, his brain is twisting into whirlpool circles around himself. No way Chanyeol will be able to sleep.

He hugs a pillow over his face and mumbles to Jongdae, “Thanks for not killing Kyungsoo.”

Jongdae touches his soft bed reverently. “No problem. Anything for my kingdom.” He sits on the edge and looks over at Chanyeol. “You’re the Phoenix, right?”

Shit. Chanyeol moves the pillow down to look Jongdae in the face. He doesn’t seem angry, so Chanyeol nods. “Sorry I walked out on you guys.”

Shaking his head, Jongdae bites his lip and takes a second to speak. He runs a hand over his short, military-styled hair. “You didn’t walk out. You were still fighting for us, just in a different way.” He awkwardly pats at Chanyeol’s exposed calf. “Thanks.”

Chanyeol’s never thought of it quite like that, but it’s definitely true. That makes him feel better and a little less intimidated by Jongdae. He sits up, smiling, and pats the empty space beside him. The bed is huge, big enough they won’t worry about sharing, but he finds he’s looking forward to the company. Definitely beats wandering listlessly around the castle. _Definitely_ beats the front lines.

Before Jongdae can crawl upwards, there’s a knock at the door. Baekhyun’s face peeps in, partially illuminating the copious guards behind him.

“I’m switching with Chanyeol,” he says, and he leaves no room for disagreement.

Chanyeol, personally, would not disagree with that.

He hops off the bed and leaves them with a final, “Have fun!” But he doesn’t miss the tense expression on Baekhyun’s face or the way he hesitates in the threshold of the door, like he’s walking into a trap rather than a shelter. He looks more fearful now than when he reached the castle front gates.

Confused, Chanyeol shuts the door behind him and doesn’t ask. He has more pressing matters: Kyungsoo. A member of the kitchen staff is just rounding the corner with food for Baekhyun and Jongdae. He waves to the guards and crosses the hallway to his door.

Kyungsoo sits on the edge of the bed with both legs stretched out. He’s massaging his thigh with both hands, careful to avoid the wound, with eyes downcast and hair falling in his face. He’s the most beautiful thing Chanyeol’s ever seen. He takes tentative steps closer until Kyungsoo’s hair brushes his chest.

He looks up and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Chanyeol smiles back.

“I’m glad it’s just us.”

Chanyeol sighs into a full-body type of relief. “Me too.”

“I thought Baekhyun might want some time with Jongdae,” Kyungsoo says, lips stretching into a heart-shaped smile. Chanyeol’s heart skips a beat.

He pushes soft hair out of Kyungsoo’s face without thinking. Kyungsoo leans into the touch and briefly closes his eyes. Chanyeol, dumbly, says, “What?”

“They’re soulmates.”

“Wait. _What?_ ”

Kyungsoo does that amused little huff again, the one Chanyeol once wanted to break him free of, when he tried to make Kyungsoo laugh fully. Chanyeol sits beside him on the bed, falling into a valley in the mattress where their combined weight dips them together. “How do you know?”

“I saw Jongdae’s mark on our first night underground. It took me a while to place it, but it’s definitely the same as Baekhyun’s.”

Chanyeol only met Jongdae less than an hour ago, but he can see it. A Luxean soldier and an Ely prince-slash-general? What a pair. No crazier than they are, anyway.

“Wow,” he says, “Cool.”

Kyungsoo yawns again. His eyes scrunch up in the most adorable way when he does. Shifting his weight, he pulls his uninjured leg up to bed and adjusts to face Chanyeol. “Do you want to run a bath together?”

That sounds like the best idea he’s ever heard. He points at Kyungsoo’s forehead. “Yes. I’ll get it started, you wait here.”

Chanyeol darts to the bathroom and sets a bath running. They don’t have hot water at this time of night — it’s a miracle they even have running water — but that’s not an issue when he can set a controlled fire directly beneath the steel tub. He digs through cabinets for lavender soap and fluffy towels. God, he’s tired, but soaking in a warm bath with Kyungsoo sounds like absolute heaven.

When he returns to the room Kyungsoo is slumped backwards with his eyes closed. Chanyeol wants to pinch his cheek, but that probably wouldn’t go over well. He shakes Kyungsoo’s shoulder instead. He stirs gingerly, and Chanyeol’s heart aches with empathy. The past several weeks must’ve been so difficult — but Kyungsoo came out of it successful and with a plan.

Is it weird that Chanyeol’s a little proud?

“You have a dumb look on your face.” Kyungsoo stands and strips out of his shirt. “Why?”

Well, _now_ it’s because Chanyeol can’t stop looking at all the bare skin exposed to him, including the dark soulmark accenting Kyungsoo’s tan.

“Uh,” he swallows, “I’m just… glad you made it. I wish I could’ve helped you.”

Kyungsoo’s brows soften and smooth. “You did help. I thought of you when it was hard and when I wanted to go home.”

Slowly Chanyeol unbuttons his own shirt and tosses it on the bed. He spent several hikes shirtless during their journey, but Kyungsoo’s gaze still ticks lower and lower over his chest, heavy and dark.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you,” Chanyeol says, and realizes they’ve both moved closer together. “If you went home.”

Kyungsoo reaches out and grabs his hand. “I said I wouldn’t leave you.” He turns and leads the way into the bathroom, like he didn’t just insist on a promise that Chanyeol himself broke. He was so worried, and for nothing. Kyungsoo’s forgiven him. Not his soulmate, not his fellow prince, just him. Just Chanyeol.

Immediately Kyungsoo lifts the soap close to his face and sniffs. “Did you make this yourself, waxmaker?”

“Unfortunately not.”

Amused, Kyungsoo sets down the soap. His eys wander about the bathroom, stopping on the expansive steel bathtub and cozy fire.

”This is nice. You treat all your guests like this, or are we special?”

“ _You’re_ special.” Chanyeol blurts out. He feels himself blush from the ears down and Kyungsoo turns to stare.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Kyungsoo says, then kisses him.

Chanyeol isn’t expecting it. He almost crashes backwards into the sink, but Kyungsoo has one arm around his waist and one reaching for the back of his neck. He tastes as sweet as a dream and his lips are soft. So soft that Chanyeol leans into this, warm and solid and right, turning to deepen the kiss and enjoy Kyungsoo’s sharp inhale against his mouth. Then he takes control, guiding Chanyeol towards the tub with one arm and dropping his own pants with the other. Everything’s happening so fast that Chanyeol’s heart quickens into double-time. He never wants this to end.

When Kyungsoo does break the kiss he chases him down without thinking. That makes Kyungsoo smile, exultant and fond. His lips are already pinker than before.

“Is this okay?”

“Definitely.”

Chanyeol snatches the soap, tosses it in the tub, and shimmies out of his own pants. Then they’re standing in their underwear, facing each other, flushed in the cheeks and a little hot under the proverbial collar.

It should be awkward. Chanyeol’s been with other people before. Not often, but enough to know that awkwardness is unavoidable. But staring at Kyungsoo, even with his scarring thigh and dirt-brushed skin on full display, feels right. They take each other in fully before Kyungsoo makes the first move.

In one single, fluid motion, he drops his underwear and plunges into the tub. Automatically he sighs at the touch of clean, warm water, leaning back, eyelashes fluttering closed. Chanyeol is quick to follow. Their knees bang together in the middle space and the water rises just above the rim. It splashes onto the tiles and Chanyeol laughs. They rearrange limbs, careful of Kyungsoo’s injured leg, until they can face each other comfortably.

Chanyeol scoops up the bar of soap. He wraps one hand around Kyungsoo’s ankle. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Kyungsoo’s eyes twinkle.

Since they’ve decided to cannonball right into domesticity, Chanyeol picks up Kyungsoo’s ankle and starts scrubbing his skin with soap. Immediately Kyungsoo gasps and grips the edge of the tub with white knuckles.

“That _tickles,_ ” he says, breathless and surprised.

“Oh?” Chanyeol raises an eyebrow and takes the soap back to the pad of his foot.

“ _Fuck_ , that feels weird,” Kyungsoo laughs in earnest now, tilting his head back farther and squeezing both eyes shut.

They fall into a comfortable routine of Chanyeol washing every bit of Kyungsoo’s skin he can find. Between the warm water and all the touching, they’re both very pink in the face. More than once he steals a glance at Kyungsoo, only to find him already staring back, eyes intense on Chanyeol’s face.

Diligently he works his way up to Kyungsoo’s face, skipping delicately over his crotch and trying not to drop the bar of soap. That would be unromantic. Chanyeol is amazed at how soft his skin is underneath all that dirt, and he feels like he’s polishing up a statue — that’s how perfect Kyungsoo’s proportions are.

When he finishes washing his chest and shoulders, Chanyeol lets the soap slide along the bottom. He settles himself between Kyungsoo’s parted legs and leans in for a kiss. Kyungsoo opens for him willingly, threading one wet hand through Chanyeol’s hair.

They kiss until Chanyeol can’t breathe. Every part of him is rejoicing. _Finally, finally_! He braces one arm on the edge of the tub and uses the other to cup Kyungsoo’s face, drawing him in, and biting gently at his lower lip. Kyungsoo trembles and sighs, moving his hand down to Chanyeol’s lower back. He’s intoxicating. All of a sudden he surges up, displacing the water, and guides Chanyeol onto his back. Pliant, Chanyeol lays against the wall of the tub, Kyungsoo smiling and dripping above him, in an exact reversal of their positions.

That particular moment is the best moment of Chanyeol’s life. Just saying.

He pulls Kyungsoo back down and this time the kiss is different, lazier and sweeter, if that’s even possible. They relax, legs tangled, and trade kisses until Chanyeol’s so comfortable he could fall asleep right here like this, in the cooling water.

Kyungsoo finally pulls back. Thanks to wandering hands, his hair is an utter mess. His lips, plump and red, curve into a smile as he looks down at him. Chanyeol can’t even imagine what his own face looks like. He’s so happy, it must be shining out of his skin by now.

“Um,” Chanyeol says. “That was nice.”

“Really nice.”

“Yeah.”

Kyungsoo untangles their legs and settled back across the tub. “We should do it again sometime.”

Swallowing hard, Chanyeol nods. “Yeah.”

“When I’m not so sleepy.” Kyungsoo rubs at his eyes and grabs a towel from the floor. That motion unintentionally flexes his muscles and Chanyeol needs to look away _now_ or he’s gonna be touching Kyungsoo inappropriately in 0.2 seconds. Fuck, he’s so hot.

“Yeah.” Chanyeol says again, reaching for the second towel and rising from the tub. He doesn’t miss the way Kyungsoo blinks at his chest, then lower. He wraps himself dry and steps out. They shouldn’t go any further tonight — although Chanyeol wants to. _Really_ wants to. Now that they have all the time in the world, there’s no reason to rush.

When he’s dried and dressed, he remembers that Kyungsoo has no clothes but the dirty ones. Chanyeol scores through drawers of guest clothes until he finds something he thinks used to belong to Sehun. It’s a red sleep shirt made of silk and matching black pants. He brings them back to the bathroom, where Kyungsoo stands with the towel around his waist, frowning at himself in the mirror.

He startles when Chanyeol bursts back through the door.

“Sorry!” Chanyeol keeps a fair distance and hands over the clothes.

“It’s okay.” Kyungsoo drops the towel and pulls on the pants first. “Thanks. I almost didn’t recognize myself there for a second.”

Chanyeol politely casts his eyes upward as Kyungsoo changes. He stares at a chip in the ceiling and thinks that he’d probably recognize Kyungsoo blind, deaf, and underwater.

“Why?”

Kyungsoo pulls on the shirt. He touches his stomach through the fabric, then his injured thigh, and frowns. “I lost weight on the journey. I’m so pale now.”

The dissatisfaction in his voice is bothersome. Kyungsoo doesn’t have issues with his self-image, Chanyeol knows, but weeks without a single idea about appearance would take a toll on anyone. He looks at Kyungsoo, who’s back to inquisitively touching his hair in the mirror, and steps forward.

He turns Kyungsoo by the hand until they’re facing one another. “You’re beautiful.”

Immediately Kyungsoo hides his face in Chanyeol’s chest. “Oh, my God,” he says, voice muffled by Chanyeol’s shirt, “This is too much. The kissing made you soft.”

“I’ve always been soft. Plus, you started it! You said I was fucking — “

Kyungsoo cuts him off with a tiptoe kiss. It’s fleeting but warm. His eyes are back to smiling when he leads Chanyeol by the wrist to the bed. “I stand by that. Let’s go to sleep, I’m exhausted.”

They crawl under the covers together. Even though they spent many nights sleeping beside each other on the road, this is the first time Kyungsoo initiates touching. He curls around Chanyeol’s back, laying an arm across his chest, and breathes deep enough to stir the duvet. Chanyeol can’t keep the stupid grin off his face. The blankets are comfortable, but feeling Kyungsoo’s chest rise and fall gently along his back is even more comfortable. What can he say? He’s a cuddler.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says.

Kyungsoo cracks open an eye.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Chanyeol places his hand over Kyungsoo’s on his chest. “I dunno. Everything.”

“Well, thanks for not killing me the first time we met,” Kyungsoo says, closing his eyes again. He continues in a quieter voice, “I’m really glad I found you, Chanyeol.”

“Me too.”

“Kyungsoo?”

He shifts behind Chanyeol. “Yeah?”

It’s quiet for a minute while Chanyeol pieces his desires together into one ballooning question — suddenly this is all he wants. “When all of this is over,” he says, licking his lips, “can I go with you on your next ambassador trip?”

Kyungsoo tugs him around so they’re facing one another, separated by inches on a pillow. His eyes are huge and dark as he looks over Chanyeol’s face. Checking for sincerity? Chanyeol squeezes his hand and hopes he comes across as genuine as he feels.

Instead of speaking, Kyungsoo snakes a hand behind Chanyeol’s head and kisses him, once, soundly, eyes fluttering closed. “Of course,” he whispers against Chanyeol’s lips.

He can feel himself break into a huge, embarrassing smile. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Kyungsoo smiles back. “It’s a date. Goodnight, Chanyeol.”

“Night.”

Kyungsoo is asleep seconds later. The window is cracked open across the room and Chanyeol enjoys the cool air on his face as he stretches his legs out, gently, careful not to kick out. They’re warm in bed together with lips swollen from kisses. An all-encompassing war is about to come to a final close. Peace will define the rest of their lives.

Chanyeol presses a kiss to Kyungsoo’s hand and enjoys the sticky, happy lavender smell on his skin. They’re still an odd pair, the Phoenix prince and the pearl prince, but if this is how the rest of their lives unfold, he’s happy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it all the way through this please let me know what you think!!


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